Provenance
by Borath
Summary: Optimus and Megatron's sparkling, guarded by Starscream and semi-adopted by Ironhide, can only make life for the Autobots challenging at best, especially when the Decepticons want him for themselves. Sequel to 'Equilibrium', Optimus/Ironhide.
1. Chapter 1

_Quite obviously I don't own Transformers and am making no profit._

_This is a direct sequel to 'Equilibrium,' which should be read first for this to make any kind of sense. I'll apologise in advance for some of my muck-ups with the cannon as I'm running with fairly limited knowledge, combining information from the 80s cartoon, the films and a whole lot of other fanfiction to write from. Please set aside any inconsistencies (ie: Jazz is alive and well, because I like him that way) for the sake of enjoying the story._

* * *

Provenance

_Chapter 1_

"'Bee, you're taking this way too seriously," Sam shouted before hastily rolling out of the way of the yellow bot's feet. From the rec room sofa, Mikaela didn't try to suppress her laughter and Tempest chirped and clapped his hands.

Though in his first body that Ratchet built for him, Tempest was still the same size as Mikaela and easily held by the adult mechs. His white, grey and blue colourings matched what had been on his protoform at birth, though he'd developed a liking for stickers and a yellow smiley face or band name could often be found somewhere on his body. Duck, the large stuffed bear he'd been given by the humans, was propped up so that he was also watching them play. The toy went almost everywhere with him, and after three months it showed.

"Seriously, you're not really fighting! Stop jumping around before you break my leg!"

Quite certain that Sam would get out of the way if a proximity sensor missed where he was, Bumblebee didn't pause in his game. In theory the Wii was the perfect computer game to play with the Autobots. They couldn't simply hack it like they had the Playstation, memorise the patterns and then shame Sam's hours of game play with effortless wins. It had its drawbacks, though. Namely Bumblebee endangering the two teens as he boxed at the air with the remote held between his fingers. It put on a good show, though.

"The controller is inadequate," Bumblebee announced with a huff when the match ended with his opponent's victory, lowering his hands and clicking through the menu screen again. "It's not accurate."

"That's half the fun, 'Bee." Mikaela fidgeted on the sofa as Tempest curled himself on his side, his head in her lap though still watching the two standing in front of the television. "The idea's not to ace it – just to have fun."

"Says you," Sam mumbled, earning a winked optic from the young mech.

"May we do the bowling next?"

Sam nodded with a grin, knowing that he was still slightly better at that game. He glanced to Ratchet sitting at the table on the other side of the sofa, calibrating some part of some Autobot's head. It was a bit creepy to see Ratchet working, he had to admit, but he tried to remind himself that his friends were made of typically inanimate material. Despite how Bumblebee behaved playing the Nintendo. "Ratchet, you want to take a break and join in?"

"That'll be a 'no', but thanks for the offer," the medic replied without looking up from his work. Technically Bumblebee was watching Tempest for Optimus this morning, but more than once such a pairing had resulted in a lot of mess so he'd decided he'd better sparkling-sit the both of them and save the base's walls.

Tempest reached out for one of the bear's arms and pulled the toy into chest, curling around it with a low digitised sound akin to a moan. Mikaela felt the edges of his vents with a frown, feeling the sluggish movement of warm air. "I think Tempest needs some Energon."

"I'll do it." Ratchet set down his tools and stood, waving Bumblebee off. "You just keep yourselves occupied." Moving around to pick up the small mech, he withdrew a fuel line from beneath his chassis between his fingers, offering the end to Tempest only to have it batted away. "Come on now, mechling. I've filtered it twice for you."

Mikaela watched as Tempest continued to refuse the feedling line, squirming to hide his face against Ratchet's armour. "He's not eating?"

"Could just be being fussy, or could be a blockage somewhere." Ratchet glanced to her, offering a reassuring smile. "I'll see if he'll take from Prime before we start worrying."

"Shall I come?" Mikaela asked, already getting to her feet. She'd gradually taken on an informal apprenticeship with Ratchet since helping with Optimus whilst he was carrying Tempest. Her small hands made some tasks much easier for her than for Ratchet, and the old medic seemed to enjoy the company. There was a good chance it could turn into a paid career for her, maintaining the Autobots and answering questions from the military about their biology in human-friendly terms.

Ratchet shook his head, carefully picking up the bear. "No, he'll be in his office. Hopefully it'll just be in and out. If he still won't eat I'll let you know."

The offered bear was ignored. Mikaela grimaced. "Well that's not a good sign."

"Don't worry – sparklings know how to sulk," Ratchet assured, though his own systems were uneasy with Tempest's behaviour. Settling him against his chest, he made for the door.

"Keep us post-damnit 'Bee, I was talking!"

Mechanical chuckles followed the medic out into the corridor.

* * *

Ratchet continued offering the feeding line as he walked to Optimus's office. It was batted away with narrowed optics, the sparkling squirming to turn his face into Ratchet's chassis with low clicks.

"Hatchet?"

He looked up to see Starscream approaching from down the corridor, walking with a noticeable limp. His own red optics narrowed as he saw Tempest. "Is he alright?"

"He's not eating. Just won't take it. I was just going to try him with Optimus," Ratchet replied with a grimace, offering the mech out when Starscream reached for him. Tempest chirped at the new bot but immediately tried to tuck into the Seeker's armour, curling beneath the plates above his spark chamber.

"You've already checked for impurities?" Starscream asked without looking up, running a sharp finger gently down the small body.

"Of course."

Starscream nodded absently, face plates drawn together in thought. He cocked his head and cupped the mech's back, feeling for the gentle vibrations of the motors, servos, pumps and fans inside. Amidst chirped protests he turned him, feeling the temperature from his vents and the resistance of cables. "Feels like his systems are locking up. Nothing in or out. Medbay?"

Ratchet quirked a smile. "If you're happy to hold him for me at the risk of him purging all over you."

Starscream made a soft sound of agreement, resettling Tempest against his chassis. "Wouldn't be the first time he's done it, though if he can keep it away from my vents this time it'd be appreciated."

Though his oath to protect the mech didn't require this kind of hovering, he cared more than he'd admit without torture. He had a lot of time for Tempest, and for Ratchet in turn. He'd been spending a lot of time with the grizzled medic since being released from the Medbay, usually whilst watching over Tempest. Ironhide was very frank about his unwillingness for the sparkling to be alone with Starscream.

Ratchet let Tempest remain in the Seeker's arms as they made their way to the Medbay, knowing that Starscream would hand him back if asked but that it would be a very reluctant parting. Away from Megatron, Starscream had calmed notably and had revealed himself to be quite an introspective bot. His impulsiveness was actually just speed on the crest of consideration, his actions well thought out before they were implemented. It was what had made him such a fearsome opponent, and an asset to the Autobots now.

It was going to be a long time before he was accepted within their ranks, though. Optimus was content with his presence, as was he, but Ironhide remained wary and Bumblebee's energy field pricked with anxiety when the Seeker entered a room. Prowl was, typically, unreadable, but he hadn't gone out of his way to make time for him. Everyone else was a mixed pot. If Starscream minded he didn't show it, his expression only readable when he was with Tempest, and then it was at peace. Even when he was leaking thin rivulets of energon from his back and limping.

"So what have you been doing to get so banged up?" he asked once they were inside the Medbay, gesturing for Starscream to take a seat with Tempest in his lap.

"Training with Ironhide. Thought he'd rearrange my armour a bit in the process." A smirk, still watching Tempest squirm. "He should be hobbling in to see you later when he thinks I won't notice."

Ratchet shook his head with rolled optics, transforming his hand into a multi-tool to take off one of Tempest's panels and check for a block in the fuel lines underneath. "You know, one day soon he's just going to offline you outright, and he won't say 'oops'. It'll be 'slaghead shouldn't have got in the way of my cannons.'"

A snort and Starscream sat back, easing Tempest onto his back and running his thumbs over the small mech's shoulder joints to keep him quiet whilst Ratchet removed the panel. "Fragger wants to get serious, I'm happy to oblige."

A rattled, irritated sigh. "Prime wouldn't want you two to be fighting, especially with ammunition. You're supposed to be one of us now."

A half shrug. "That's why we're not fighting. Not really."

Ratchet ran his fingers along the fine fuel lines, finding them unobstructed. "Just working out some issues, are you?"

"Something like that," Starscream replied softly as he watched the medic work.

"Why don't you train with Prowl?"

Starscream frowned outright at that, seemingly offended by the suggestion. "Because he's a tactician, not a specialist. And I'm not afraid of any of you, especially Ironhide, and I don't want the old fragger to think I am by avoiding him."

"Sounds reasonable. But if one of you comes in carrying their own arm, I'm stepping in, and then Prime can deal with what's left," Ratchet replied with a wrench-associated warning look. When Starscream only smirked back, he quickly replaced the panel on Tempest's abdomen and sat him up again. "Alright mechling. No blocks, no leaks, so let's take a look at what's going on."

Tempest squawked a protest at the probing hands, and Starscream bounced his knee for a few seconds to quiet him. "No dregs in his tanks. He's just about dry."

Though he'd already gotten that from his scans, Ratchet didn't know how Starscream had figured that out. "How can you tell?"

A half shrug, equally helpless and affronted. "Just can."

"Seekers," Ratchet murmured, frowning. "If he's dry he should be guzzling energon, not turning his nose up at it."

Starscream cocked his head as Tempest took his hand, pulling it over his head to hide from Ratchet. "What're his systems like in general?"

"My next line of inquiry. Hold him, I need to look under his helm."

Lifting the sparkling in both hands, Starscream turned him about and lay him against his chest, holding him tight to his panels. Being pressed against the warm point over his spark chamber elicited a drowsy purr despite the medic unlocking a panel on the back of his head. The Seeker peered into the intricate workings whilst Ratchet probed with a fine tool for a few minutes, speaking up once he was done. "Nothing looks shorted. Bit worn, but the way he runs around that's not surprising." His voice switched to a recording. "'I'm your Prime, Tempest, not your climbing frame.'"

Ratchet looked up with a raised brow. "You've got some medical experience?"

Starscream shook his head, watching Ratchet pick up a scanner now that his visual assessment was complete. "Decepticons don't have dedicated medics. Easiest way to demoralise the enemy is to take out their medics, so Megatron decided we shouldn't have any. It forces you to learn some of the basics."

The medic's face was knotted with distaste as he ran a closer diagnostic scan. "Not the best way to run an army, having soldiers patch themselves up with no real knowledge. And we'd never fire on a medic."

Starscream's mouth curled in a sneer. "Megatron's a moron. This shouldn't surprise you."

"Still smart enough to pose a threat." A bleep from the scanner and Ratchet blinked. "Though Tempest's going to be smarter. His drives are full and his processor's clogged from all the information. No wonder he doesn't want any energon."

A raised brow from the Seeker as he looked to the mechling humming against his chest. "He's too smart? Hatchet, he calls that insipid toy bear Duck."

"Well, whatever the thinking behind that, it's too complex for the hardware he's got," Ratchet replied as he replaced the plate and lifted the sparkling away from the Seeker's body, holding him up to squeaks of pleasure. "Looks like I'll need to upgrade you again, little one. Your sire will be very proud to hear that you're so clever."

Starscream shook his head with something close to awe. "Not even out of his first frame yet."

"I know," Ratchet replied softly. "It's quite remarkable."

"Quite." Starscream followed as the medic moved to a berth and sat Tempest on it. "Everyone knew he wasn't going to be an ordinary sparkling."

"He'll have a larger capacity for language with this upgrade," Ratchet replied as he began gathering extra parts, scrutinising each one before placing it on the end of the berth.

"Great, he'll be able to answer Ironhide back with something other than 'bang'."

Ratchet smiled a little, though it was bittersweet. There was something very endearing about a sparkling's near-nonsensical chatterings that they'd all miss. "Doubtless the bear will still be called 'Duck', though, and you'll be 'Scree.'"

"I've been called worse."

"No doubt." Ratchet glanced up from inspecting the parts to see the Seeker lingering by the berth, a hand supporting Tempest's back to sit him up. "You don't need to stay for this, Starscream. I'll be putting him under for the installation. Should take about an hour."

A slight shift in weight from one foot to the other. "You're certain?"

For the other's sake Ratchet repressed a smile. "Yes, and he'll be fine."

A moment's consideration before Starscream shook his head and moved to sit up on the neighbouring berth, thumbing the newest lacerations in his armour. "I think I'll stay, all the same. Make use of your equipment."

"If that's your excuse," Ratchet replied under the sound of his vents as he put Tempest under, just loud enough for Seeker to hear.

Before he'd laid hands on Tempest, the medic's comm. chirped on an open channel, Prowl's voice sounding clipped. "Megatron and Blackout are engaged with an aircraft carrier docked at a military port. Looks like they're going after nukes again."

Ratchet looked to Starscream. "Looks like this'll have to wait."


	2. Chapter 2

_Provenance_

Chapter Two

When the door to my office opens without a chime, I don't look up. I know it's Ironhide from how he moves, the way he steps inside, closes the door, and then lingers on waiting pistons. Always battle-ready, always watchful.

"What're you doing?"

By contrast I'm battling paperwork, a daily chore. I retract my face plate and rub my jaw. "Requisitions. Starscream wants some jet fuel to run hotter in a fight, which is a reasonable enough request but wording it convincingly is taking some work."

A soft thoughtful sound, tinged with mirth. It rolls from him and I smile at its smoothness. "Slip it in amongst Wheeljack's stuff. It'll stand out less."

"Good idea." I finally look up and note the new dents, scratches and scorch marks across his body with an arched brow. "Been training with Starscream again?"

He rolls his shoulders with grinding gears, moving to lean against the desk beside where I'm sat, facing me. "More or less."

I frown but bite my glossa. It's only been three months, nowhere near long enough for Ironhide in particular to fully and peacefully accept Starscream into our ranks. On the whole I'm just grateful that they haven't maimed or killed each other. I nod to the pad between my hands on the desk. "Anything you'd like to add to the supplies request?"

Folding his arms, he appears suddenly broader. "Could use a few new target bots on the range. Ones we've got are just about beyond the point of repair now."

I make a note with the stylus. "Consider it done."

"Thanks."

An easy silence falls, Ironhide seeming to just enjoy the quiet whilst I sit back and regard the data chips littering my desk, working out a priority order. A strong hand brushes the back of mine so softly that it's almost soundless. "Not disturbing you too much, am I? Didn't see you last night with patrol an' all, so…"

I smile and nudge the hand in turn. "Actually I was just thinking that I could use a disturbance."

He grins and it softens his optics into blue halos. I remain sat back as he moves to cradle my face between his hands, brushing his nose against mind with a warm sigh from his vents. "I worry about ya, you know."

Reaching up to hold his wrists, I thumb the heels of his hands. "Why?"

There's another hiss from his vents, armour shifting slightly as he shutters his optics. Where Bumblebee speaks with his optics, Ironhide speaks with rushes and waves of air, a subtle language that's taken time to decipher. "When you're not with Tempest you're working, and between the two it doesn't leave a lot of time to uncoil your springs."

I know that though he would never say it, there's a silent 'for me' in the utterance. Finding time for each other has been the biggest stumbling block we've had, particularly given that we've decided not to reveal what's happening between us to anyone yet. In public we are friends and comrades, and he only comes to me as a partner when there's little chance of it being noticed. At least Prowl knows and can steer visitors away from my office at times like this.

"Are you suggesting there's not enough time for –you- to uncoil my springs?" Though I inject my tone with mirth, we both know I'm serious.

"It's not like I'd turn down an opportunity," he replies in the same loaded and misleading tone, laying a soft touch to my mouth with his own. "I just think you need to take more time to relax. Recharge a bit."

I temper down some frustration that he doesn't understand that I have to do this, as insignificant as it appears. His job is to supervise and teach effective ways to blow things up. Amongst other things, I have to explain what we're blowing up, why and how we could do it better if it were a Decepticon. Daily.

"'Hide, it's just paperwork. Tedious and far from strenuous, I assure you. If it doesn't get done it'll just stack up, and Prowl's already got his hands full."

He makes a low sound, a heady mixture of concern and suggestiveness. "Anything I can do to help?" The best thing he's done for me is been able to take me away from thinking about these things, if only for a few hours. I thank him for it.

Resting my cheek to his, I savour the quiet, steady strength in his proximity. "You're acclimatising Starscream to our tactics and working on weapons and defences for Tempest. You do more than enough."

A smirk that I hear more than see as he shifts a little into sitting onto my desk, hands slipping from my neck to the arms of my chair. "And I get between you and all that paperwork every now and then."

I breathe a laugh as he drags my chair forwards, trapping my legs between his beneath the desk. "Sometimes literally."

A feigned look of innocent nonchalance as his engines thrum with a deep purr. He shifts forwards to pin me completely, running his hands up my arms. "Hey, your office locks and Tempest is hardly ever here."

I offer my throat as he dips his head for it, running his mouth across electrified lines. "I think you just like fooling around in my office."

A nip to a neural cluster that makes me twitch, our plates shifting against each other. He laughs a little. "Do I? I'm getting old, Optimus, you have to refresh me on these things."

I cup the back of his neck before running my fingers in a firm grip down cables, hydraulics and into the neural lines buried under his cannons. "You're not old, 'Hide."

Another nip, harder this time. Possessive. His chassis vibrates in thin jerks against me, spark swelling to find mine. His full weight is bearing down on me now. "Older than you."

I put my mouth to his jaw, following the hard line across to his mouth. "Like it really matters at this point."

Infuriatingly he pulls his head back, optics bright and mouth quirked. "I'm still forgetful. I'd like the refresher course."

My hands drifting to his waist, I grip the edges of the thick armour. "Oh really?"

He cocks his head, still with that damned smile. "Yeah, and I can't-"

"Shut it, 'Hide," I growl back, jerking his body close and making sure he stops talking by kissing him hard. He sags a little against me, briefly, then his engine slips into a new gear and his plates grind against mine, hands retracing familiar paths to favourite spots.

My head tips back as I exhale simultaneously through every vent, optics shuttering. My chassis splits of its own accord, a crack flickering out from my spark in anticipation. I hear Ironhide's chassis open, the sound of his engine sharpening.

Warm, rough hands slide to my throat, bracing over my shoulders as he shifts to bring our chests together for a moment. Something hot arcs between us and we both moan, his slipping somehow into words. "I'll never get used to this."

Nothing coherent comes to mind and I grab his sides again instead, pulling to bring our sparks together. The distance, the anticipation, hurts. It's hurt like this the last few times, and I don't know why. It makes me give something like a pained moan when he grabs my wrists and pins my hands on the arms of the chair. My spark swells, shudders, aches in hot pinpricks.

"'Hide, don't." It's not a playful warning like when he's teased before. It's a plea. His hazy optics meet mine, something passing, before he throws his head back as he crushes his chest to mine.

I break from his grip to hold him, clutching as the coppery charge wracks and ripples through my body in thick, undulating waves. Someone cries out, perhaps both of us, and I see white. It goes on and on, my overload coaxing his to crest again and again on the rebound between our sparks.

Eventually.

"That was… Something else."

His voice jerks me back to myself, still wrapped up against him with the last tendrils of overload going to ground. Not knowing what to say I simply nod against his armour, shifting a little to give our chassis's room to reseal. Ironhide resettles against me, fans whirring as fast as mine to get our core temperatures back down. I kiss a finial, idly wondering what that was and how we can do it again.

Before I can retrace our steps, our comm.'s crack simultaneously and Ironhide barks a quiet laugh into my neck. I rub my optics to find some composure and answer for us both. "Go ahead, Prowl."

"Megatron and Blackout are engaged with an aircraft carrier docked at a military port. Looks like they're going after nukes again."

Ironhide had begun to climb out of my lap at 'Megatron', waiting at the door for me to shakily find my own feet. "Meet us at the hanger. You get that Ratchet?"

Our medic's voice comes back calm, but I can hear he's moving quickly. "On my way. Tempest and Starscream are with me."

"Ironhide and I will meet you there. Prime out."

It's a short dash to the hanger, and we talk on the go.

"They could be trying to draw us out and away from the base," Ironhide advises in a growl, optics narrowing. "Megatron knows we'll leave Tempest here."

I take his point but it doesn't change anything. "He's not coming with us."

Ironhide thinks for a moment. "Bee can stay with him."

As much as I trust Bumblebee, and am confident in him as a soldier, it doesn't feel like enough. I want to stay and guard Tempest myself, but it's not where I should be. "If Megatron himself comes to take him, I want more firepower in wait."

Ironhide makes the decision for me. "We'll need Screamer in the air for Blackout. I'll stay."

"Fine. I'll lead the others." I glance to him with a tight smile, glad it's him staying to protect Tempest when it cannot be me. "Watch the sky."

He grins as the entrance to the hanger comes into view, a collection of Autobots already waiting. His cannons spin into readiness. "Just another day at the office."

* * *

"Well. This is anticlimactic."

From beside Ironhide, Bumblebee gave a low whistle of agreement. Sam scratched his head and looked back to where Mikaela was standing with Tempest, holding the mech's hand as the two guardians looked out of the hanger.

Skywarp was making lazy, unthreatening passes, flying as if he wanted to be somewhere else and was only making token reconnaissance under orders. For an hour he'd been sweeping back and forth, not close enough to pose a threat but still a presence to be wary of.

Ironhide growled under his breath, his body tight from waiting and uneasy from the unchanging situation. They'd been poised anticipating an attack that hadn't come. Ten minutes after Optimus had left with a handful of Autobots to fend off the Decepticon attack, a lone Seeker had appeared at a cautious distance and done very little aside from be present. The old mech flexed his armour again, guns twitching. There was an explanation for this. "Starscream said there's a rumour going around the Decepticons that Prime miscarried, and that Megatron's after a sparkling that doesn't exist."

"He hasn't left the base, yet," Bumblebee confirmed softly, as if Skywarp might overhear them. "He's safe so long as they don't know he's really here."

The older mech shook his head, vents rattling irritably. "But things can't stay like that for too much longer. It's cruel on Pest, and a pain to need to do this every time the Decepticons decide to play up."

Thirty paces away Tempest gave a low whine, optics bright from all the tension of the last hour. Mikaela hushed him and rubbed his back, earning a happier chirp as the young mech leaned into her. Sam slid his arm about her shoulders, looking across to him. "It's alright, Tem'. Nothing to worry about. We've got one of the toughest bots in the universe looking out for us."

Tempest pointed, looking to Sam for confirmation. "Bang?"

Mikaela grinned despite the situation. "Yes, Ironhide makes the bad guys go bang."

The sparkling blinked, pointing again to outside the hanger. He made a short, lyrical sound with a questioning lift at the end.

Ironhide glanced back at Optimus's name in Tempest's tongue. "He's alright, Pest. Back in a bit then you can get put down for some recharge."

"Looks like he's gone," Bumblebee said, stepping out of the hanger's shadow to make sure.

Moving out a few paces as well to scrutinize the sky, Ironhide finally nodded in agreement. "Alright. The others should be back soon. We'll wait in the rec room to keep Pest happy."

Sam pointed up to Bumblebee as he was cycling his weapons back. "And you can give me that rematch, Bee. You, me, bowling, no do-overs."

"Challenge accepted," the yellow mech replied brightly, allowing Sam to lead them ahead of the others back into the base.

Watching as Ironhide scooped up Tempest against his chest, Mikaela bit her lip with an anxious glance outside. "So what does this mean?"

A rumbled sound as the dark mech frowned, settling the sparkling over his spark chamber and extending a fuel line. Tempest took it happily, tucking it into the corner of his mouth when a mini-canon was offered for him to spin as he drank. "It means Pest needs a mature body and training to defend himself."

Though Ironhide slowed his pace for her, Mikaela still had to walk fast to keep up with him. Optimus would have picked her up without her needing to ask, but Ironhide wasn't quite so relaxed with humans clinging to his body. Tempest waved down to her from his elevated height, chirping insistently until she waved back. "But he's just a baby."

"I know, but he hasn't got a choice," Ironhide replied softly, optics narrowed but warm on the small mech hugging his chassis. It felt like a failing that Optimus had struggled so much to bring a sparkling into the world, and now they couldn't keep him safe enough to be one. Tempest looked up and squeaked happily, closing his optics and hugging his plates with a little wiggle as the filtered energon filled his tanks. He wasn't looking forward to having this conversation with Optimus.

"He's not safe. He's gotta grow up."


	3. Chapter 3

Provenance

_Chapter Three_

It wasn't a particularly savage battle, but it felt like one. The Decepticons were keen to keep us at the harbour, engaging us relentlessly with no other objective than to fight us. Starscream and I both ended up in the water and we're still draining out of our vents when we get back to the base.

Ironhide meets me at the hanger entrance with Tempest cradled in his arms, and the near-constant ache I've had in my spark chamber since being in my office flares anew. He begins speaking before I've finished transforming. "Tempest's fine – he needs some energon and a recharge, but he didn't fuss. Skywarp flew over for an hour but didn't try anything, and it didn't look much like he was interested to."

I take my happily squirming sparkling to my chest with my good arm, offering a readily-grabbed fuel line and watching him drink. "Starscream's suspicions may be true, then," I reply softly so as not to disturb him.

The sounds of transformations behind us before Prowl walks by with a knowing smile and vague wave, Starscream shaking out an air intake as he follows. Ratchet is forcibly leading Hot Rod by the elbow to the Medbay for some minor welds, pointing to me with an expression that leaves no illusions as to where he expects me to be soon.

When I look back to Ironhide I see that he's staring at Tempest with a mixed expression, affection tinged with regret. He meets my optics when he realizes I'm watching him. "Yeah. Good for us, for the time being."

I cock my head, arching a brow. "I sense a 'but' coming."

He smiles a little and motions with his head for us to walk, directing us to the Medbay. "Yeah, -but- it can wait until Ratchet's had his hands on you." A gesture across my chassis to my right shoulder, where a sizeable chunk of metal is warped and fragmented. "Managed to trash your shoulder again."

Ironhide knows as well as I do that it's the one Megatron shot to keep me down whilst he tried to take Tempest from me. I nod a little and gently retract the fuel line from my sparkling's hands when I see that his optics have shuttered, his body curled and limp against me. "It's never been quite right since Megatron."

A soft rumble of agreement and he touches my arm to stop us in the corridor, his fingers lingering. "Some things just never repair right. Here, I'll take him with me. Wanted to spend a bit of time with the little guy today, anyhow."

I watch him lift Tempest away to settle within the crook of his arm, barely stirring at the movement. Alone in the corridor, I run my hand from my sparkling up his arm to cup his neck, kneading gently at the wires. "He likes spending time with you as well. I'll know he'll be in good company."

His optics shutter briefly with a sigh, before he looks up at me again with a quirked smile. He's hiding something. "Alright. I'd, uh, better stop in with Prowl and do the debriefing thing first. I'll see you later, alright?"

Deciding not to press the issue for now, I withdraw my hand with a short nod. "I look forward to it."

Ironhide lingers for a few seconds before holding Tempest a little closer and turning to make his way in the opposite direction, towards the tactician's office. I watch in case he hesitates and decides to tell me whatever's on his mind, but he doesn't. Suppressing a niggle of anxiety, I continue on.

* * *

Ratchet's already waiting for me at the doorway to the Medbay, sending Hot Rod out rubbing a wrench-sized dent in his head. The medic's own arm is freshly welded, though of course he acts like it hasn't happened. Shaking his head at me a little, he nods to 'my' berth. "You and that slagging shoulder, Prime. Come on. You know the drill."

There's silence for a moment as he removes the ruined panels to pick at the workings underneath. I tune out the sound of the laser and drill being used, flexing my fingers against the hot tingle spreading down my arm. "Apparently it was only Skywarp here. Reconnaissance whilst we were kept at the harbour."

"I heard," he replies with narrowed optics, realigning some transformation cogs and watching the cables as I flex my hand. I marvel at how he can make even the most complex repair seem effortless. "No doubt he was looking for Tempest."

"No doubt," I echo softly, rubbing my optics with my good hand whilst he sets about patching up my shoulder plates. The image of how Ironhide held Tempest when I left them, as if frightened to let go, comes up unbidden. He'll tell me what's on his mind soon enough, I'm sure.

I flinch when Ratchet's welding arc cracks sparks over a neural line, finishing the repair. He sets it aside and retracts the darkened plates that had slid over his optics. "Anything else aside from the shoulder and the seawater?"

A forced smile as I roll my shoulder, finding only a dull ache in the smooth movement. "Nothing that a mug of High Grade and a few hours on a berth won't fix."

His optics narrow as he smiles, and it's not a nice one. "What about your spark chamber?" At my surprised expression he gestures to my chassis. "Your armour's flared, and I haven't picked up on any damage near that area."

I make to get down off the berth but his firm hand on my arm stops me. "It's nothing. Nothing from the fight anyway."

Ratchet cocks a brow, and I suppress a groan that I've now made it a mystery for him. "Even more suspicious. How long has it been going on?"

When it's obvious that he's not going to drop this, I rub the back of my neck in thought. It's been worse since this morning, but on reflection the ache's been an ongoing presence for longer. "A few days, maybe."

He nods and gestures for me to lie down before he takes up his scanner again. "What does it feel like?"

"It… hurts."

An arch and very unimpressed look. "You're going to have to do better than that."

My vents sigh, causing a little more seawater to find its way out of my systems and drip onto the berth. "I don't know how else to describe it. It just hurts." I shutter my optics at the flimsiness of my complaint, but there's no other way to describe the feeling. It's hot, cold, pulsing and stabbing in turn and simultaneously. "I've not felt anything like it before."

For once Ratchet doesn't make a show of irritation but runs the sensor across my chassis. "Well I'm not detecting anything particularly out of the ordinary. Overdue for a service and you need a good recharge, which is normal for you." He frowns and taps his neck with a _chink_, thoughtful. "Might be some residual problems from Tempest's birth. Open up."

I do so, watching his optics refocus to a greater magnification as I retract parts to expose my spark chamber. "It's been three months. Surely everything's healed by now."

He arches a brow but continues to scrutinize me, his hands nudging deeper. "It was a very hard, very bad birth, Optimus. By far the worst I've delivered. You'd have been off-duty for a month if I could make you."

I sigh, already familiar with this lecture. He couldn't give it at the time due to sheer circumstance, and it feels like he's been making up extra for it. "It's not as if we were in an ideal environment at the time. You did your best. He's alive, and so am I."

A low grumble. "Yes, no help from you, though. Charging off and getting your aft all but handed to you by Megatron. Ripping up your chassis, tearing the umbilical lines, leaking enough energon to power -"

I shunt a transformation cog over his fingers and watch him wince, cutting off his tirade. "I was winning, and if the birth sequence hadn't been prematurely trigged, I'm certain I -"

"Are you seeing someone?"

Freezing at the question, I watch Ratchet meet my stare, his hands still hovering about my spark chamber. Ironhide and I, though unconcerned about what others may think, have still declined to actually tell anyone or give any evidence to suggest that we're a couple. We've been friends for as long as I have memory, and lovers for only a few months. It still feels fragile and new.

To Ratchet's question, I answer cautiously. "Is that medically relevant?"

A smirk. "Everything is potentially medically relevant, and I'll take that as a yes." He indicates for me to close my chassis and moves to one of the cupboards, rummaging through spares and silver vials. "You can go. There's nothing more I can do."

"That's it?" I sit up rubbing my grill, troubled that Ironhide may inadvertently be behind this.

Ratchet shrugs as he returns to my side, holding out a vial of pain suppressant. It's the same kind I've been using on and off since the power station. "Looks like it. What you're feeling, Prime, is the start of a spark bond. It hurts because you're resisting it."

I must look stunned because he looks amused, and I blink to shake off the expression. Unfortunately no articulate response occurs. "Oh."

"So." He cocks his head, scrutinizing me. "Who's the lucky bot you're trying not to bond with?"

Now I do get off the berth, slipping the vial into a compartment on my thigh and obviously avoiding his optics as I make for the door. "Ratch'…'

He holds up his hands as he steps to block my path. "Ease up, Prime. That's your business." A firm tap to my chest, directly over where Tempest had been when I was carrying him. "Unless you get plugged up with a sparkling again, in which case it rapidly becomes my business."

A short nervous laugh that I actually wince at. "Highly unlikely. I have no intentions of doing that again. And this… relationship is still in its infancy anyway. It's not worth contemplating."

Ratchet tips his head, optics narrowing a little. "You don't think it'll last?"

I hesitate, very aware that this is the first time I've spoken about our 'relationship.' It's not in Prowl's nature to pry and the most he's done is give me a knowing smile when Ironhide comes in at the end of our meetings. Speaking to someone about it, evenly in this excessively roundabout way, makes it seem more real. "I hope it does. It's new territory, that's all."

A nod to my chassis. "Your spark seems pretty certain, and sometimes the spark knows best."

Silence as he leaves me an opportunity to leave and I find myself uneasy to take it. Suddenly talking about this has stirred up private anxieties that have been creeping in as time has passed, and it's looking more and more like Ironhide is as content to continue this as I am. I don't know at what point it got 'serious', though, and this news about a spark bond has come out of nowhere. "I just… I'm concerned that I may be confusing a friendship and everything that's been stirred up with Tempest for an infatuation."

Settling back against a berth now that it's clear that we are actually having this conversation, Ratchet folds his arms. "You mean you're worried that you're instinctively seeking a spark mate for Tempest's sake? To make a traditional familial unit?"

He's articulated these abstract worries perfectly, and I feel a spark of hope that he may produce a solution just as easily. "Yes."

Ratchet's mouth momentarily tightens into a line of consideration, then, "Slag. Utter slag. You're just anxious about romantic commitment. Always have been because of being Prime."

I roll my optics, gritting my dental plates behind the face plate. "That's not fair."

A scoff. "Convince me."

Leaning back, my hands find and grip the edge of the berth. I've not thought about her since things started with Ironhide, and to do so now feels like a betrayal of them both. "I was going to bond with Elita. I was going to ask her, before we had to separate. When it was clear that I was staying here and she on Cybertron, she decided we should end things. I'd, held out hope, but…"

Ratchet exhales softly, moving towards me to lay a hand against my undamaged shoulder. "Well, obviously your spark feels enough time has passed to try again."

I frown and straighten a little. "But it hurts. Recently, when we've… Doesn't that mean something's wrong?"

His fingers tighten in a supportive squeeze. "It's not because you're a bad match, if that's what you're worried about. That's the spark bond trying to happen."

I shift a little. "Would they be feeling it too?"

"Typically it's stronger in one than in the other, but yes, I'd imagine –they- would." He gives my shoulder a little shake, his voice taking on a firmer tone. "As your physician I'd recommend you talk to each other about this."

"I'll think about it."

A flicker of a smile and he lets me go, though I only make it a few steps towards the doorway before he calls to me again. "Before you do that, though, I need Tempest down here for a few hours. The mechling's smarter than his CPU can handle and he needs an upgrade very soon. It's already beginning to mess with his processors."

A flush of warm pride swells through my systems. "I'll get him back from Ironhide now for you."


	4. Chapter 4

Provenance

_Chapter Four_

"How in the slagging pit can I tell him that the sparkling he fought to have can't have a sparklinghood – that he has to turn into a grown soldier overnight just to be safe?" Ironhide was pacing a tight path across the tactician's office, hands clenching spasmodically as he moved. "Three months old, Prowl! I was playing with blocks at that age, not getting a cannon strapped to my back."

"Really this is a matter for Ratchet to discuss with him," Prowl replied carefully, instinctively cupping his fingers over the sleeping mech's finials whilst Ironhide continued to pace fervently.

The large mech shook his head, glancing across the desk with narrowed optics. "No fragging way – this is gonna break his spark. I'll do it." He stopped a pace short of the wall, bringing a hand to his optics as his hydraulics hissed out tension. "I just don't know how."

Though his instinct was to go to the older mech, Prowl remained sitting for the sake of the sparkling in his arms. He was impressed that Tempest hadn't woken up during Ironhide's tirade, though pinned it down to them spending so much time together with Optimus. Mouth set in a grim line as he idly stroked the infant mech's cheek, Prowl didn't envy Ironhide's position. His reasoning, however reluctant, made perfect sense and he suspected that Optimus would grudgingly see it the same way. "You need to explain where this is coming from. Your reasoning. That you think it's the only way Tempest can be safe. It makes sense to me."

Ironhide looked to the pair, expression taut. "It's not fair, Prowler. Not for either of them."

A soft exhalation that made Tempest stir a little in his sleep, mewling against a pale armour plate. "I know."

As if reminded of the sparkling's presence, Ironhide came about the desk and took the little body as it was offered out to him, cradling his slight weight. "This isn't what he wanted."

Prowl stood and folded his arms, regarding the mech between them. "It's not what anyone wanted. But it is the way it is."

"Yeah, I know." Ironhide's armour relaxed a little when his anger at having even considered this drastic course of action fully gave way to resignation that it was a good idea. "Slagging Megatron. It's never going to end, is it? Not for them."

The tactician cocked his head, a hand coming to touch at a broad elbow joint. "Or for you. I think you can count yourself as part of this family, now."

Ironhide shook his head still looking at Tempest, shifting his weight minutely.

Sensing his discomfort, Prowl rubbed his jaw as he considered how to ease the other mech. "Just raise it with him. All we're talking about is options. This isn't something that has to be done. It's just a wise precaution, and Optimus's decision in the end."

A harsh exhale and his face plates tightened against each other. "One he shouldn't even have to make."

"I think we could say that about most of the decisions he's made as Prime," Prowl replied coolly.

Narrowed optics, though they were not unkind. "This is personal, though. Being Prime's got nothing to do with it."

"I know," came the quiet agreement.

Ironhide frowned as he moved from the personal aspects of such a course of action to the practicalities, a silence stretching in the office as the ball of anxiety in his chest swelled. "Can it even work? Is it safe for him? I mean, he's growing fast but he's nowhere near developed enough for an adult body."

Prowl shrugged, regarding Tempest with narrowed optics. He'd not heard of this kind of drastic procedure being done before. "You'd have to ask Ratchet that. With some work, I think it should be fine. He'll probably be very quiet, though. Sparkling's have to transition into articulate language as they mature. With this big a jump, I don't know."

Considering that for a moment, Ironhide finally straightened and set his shoulders. Resolved. "I'll talk to him now. Ratchet should be about done with him."

"You want me to watch Tempest whilst you go?"

Ironhide ducked his head fractionally, smiling. "Stupid as it sounds, we're talking about him, so I want him there."

"That doesn't sound stupid."

With nothing to say to that Ironhide made for the door, but paused at the threshold of its sensor. "Keep all this to yourself for the time being, alright? Optimus might shoot down the idea completely and no one need know it even got suggested."

Prowl closed the distance, his voice soft as he watched the sleeping mech against Ironhide's chassis. "Of course. Though, I believe that for Tempest's sake we'll have to go through with it." A hand reached out to the broad arm. "He'll still be Optimus's son, either way. He'll still be loved."

Ironhide bristled, unconsciously hugging the sparkling closer. "That's not an issue."

A soft sound of acknowledgement before Prowl decided to be bold. Folding his arms, he aimed for a lighter tone. "How're things going between you both? I don't mean to pry, and I know you've both always been very private about your personal lives, but with the way of things now…"

Ironhide shifted a little with a nod, meeting the other mech's bright optics. "We're okay. Good, actually. Very good."

Prowl tipped his head. "You're still keeping it a secret, though."

A grimace. "Still feels like we're breaking the rules. Code of conduct."

The tactician smirked and quirked a brow. "Sometimes breaking the rules is half the fun."

Ironhide grinned and twisted his body to bump Prowl's arm with his own. "What would you know about rule breaking, Prowler? A century ago you'd have had me in here for a lecture on the ramifications of fraternization between the senior ranks – and worse still, with Prime himself."

"Things change, and it's not like you two are interfacing across his desk every day." A very self-satisfied smirk, and Prowl rolled his optics. "Oh, slag it, I didn't need to know that, though I can't say I'm surprised."

"It's not like there's anywhere else on this fragging base where you can get some privacy."

"True, though I don't think either of you have anything to worry about. Everyone will be happy just to see you both happy. And it'd be easier than sneaking out of his quarters in the middle of the night."

"You know about that, huh?"

A quirked brow and suppressed smile. "I know about everything, Ironhide, especially that."

"I… We'll see how it goes." He thumbed Tempest's stomach and received a sleepy chirp for it. A heavy sigh through his vents, and the heaviness that had haunted his frame when he'd first come into this office returned in force. "Come on, Pest. Let's go see how many guns your Sire's gonna let me strap to you."

* * *

"He's vulnerable."

Optimus rubbed his closed optics with a sigh, his thumb brushing the top of his face plate. "I know."

Tempest was feeding again, watching his sire with wide optics and flexing his fingers against his stomach. Sat side by side on the berth in his quarters, the Autobot commander had listened to Ironhide's concerns as if it were an ordinary security briefing. And they had been apt. Then he'd listened to his suggestions on what could be done about them. And they had been apt. The fact that Ironhide was right, knowing that Megatron was going to be relentless in coming after Tempest whilst he was still young and vulnerable, made his spark turn cold.

"But?" Ironhide prompted after a moment, his tone soft.

The mech's optics narrowed, the halos darkening as he regarded his child. Tempest's first body was little more than a sturdy frame and some thin armour around his protoform, intended to be light enough to learn to move in with some protection from knocks and bumps. As with a human, one shot from a Decepticon weapon would obliterate him. The only form that could withstand some damage in a fight and still be powerful enough to support itself was an adult one, two big steps away from the age the sparkling was now.

"He's not even in his youngling body yet."

Ironhide's piston's hissed quietly as he sat back, sweeping a hand up to the base of Prime's back, his fingers dipping and resting in a long scar that ran across his backstrut. "I know. All of us like having a sparkling around, and he should have the normal amount of time to live as one."

Optimus finished the thought with an affirming tone, straightening. "But it's not safe."

A grumbled sigh. "War makes everyone grow up fast. We had to expect this."

A long silence as Optimus seemed to deliberate this, broken only by Tempest's clicked swallows and murmured chirps of appreciation. Finally, Prime's system tensed with readiness and he stepped down from the berth, turning to face Ironhide with hard optics. "It's an effective means to protect him. I'll speak to Ratchet about constructing him an adult frame."

Ironhide slid off too, frowning outright and putting a restraining hand to the wrist against Tempest when he tried to turn towards the door. "Don't put up that armour, Optimus. Not with me."

Head dipping, the blue optics shuttered and Optimus replied in a voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like I've failed him, 'Hide. Failed to keep him safe enough to have the life he should have."

The old mech felt his spark contract with a cool pulse, impulsively stepping into Optimus's body and running his hands soothingly along the red and blue arms. Between them, Tempest purred loudly and stroked a hand along the darker chassis. "He'll forgive you. You're his sire." He felt more than heard the faceplate retract, the strong jaw coming to rest against the small panels at his temple as every vent in Optimus's complex body sighed overheated air in unison. "I know you wanted better for him. Less hardship, especially since he was so built up like some kind of symbol before he was even born. But he's been born into a war, and his safety and wellbeing come first. He'll still be him, just with a helluva growth spurt."

Optimus seemed to hesitate, something near Ironhide's face in his chassis whirring softly. "You're good for me."

A soft grunt and unseen smirk. "Always had your aft, Sir."

* * *

It was getting into the early hours of the morning when Sam finally gave up trying to sleep. He and Mikaela had opted to stay at the base whilst Tempest's body was finished ready for his transfer in the morning. Everyone seemed tense, but he felt sorriest for Optimus by a long stretch. He'd not seen the tall mech since he'd carried his sparkling into the Medbay last night, followed closely by Ironhide. He looked like a massive battle had been lost, a weight of guilt and finality pressing about his shoulders. In a way, he reasoned, one had.

Deciding to kill the few hours left before what was technically breakfast time, Sam left Mikaela sleeping in her cot and made his way to the rec room. The base was an unnerving place at night, its quiet seeming alien when there were usually giant robots moving about the corridors, talking within the rooms or charging about training loud enough to be heard outside. At night, sentries stood on watch at the perimeter and a scant handful of bots worked quietly by the light of their optics. Wheeljack didn't seem to sleep much, and he'd seen Ironhide more than once treading quieter than usual.

The rec room backed onto the refectory, which had a small kitchen built with humans in mind in one corner for the guests the Autobots occasionally had. Waiting for the kettle to boil, Sam ran a hand across a stack of energon cubes and smiled at the static prickle they gave off. The general supply of High Grade was tucked away on a high shelf, though he knew that Optimus and Ironhide had private stashes in their quarters. Likely all of them did to some degree, though he'd not seen any of them drunk. As far as he knew.

With a cup of coffee in hand, Sam padded quietly past the barrack-style tables and benches to the dark rec room, frowning when a dim light flickered from within in time to a cheery jingle. Wondering if Bumblebee was up early getting in some practice at bowling, he froze in the doorway when he saw that the sole occupant was Starscream.

The Seeker was sat on the floor with his back against the sofa, a half-empty mug of energon to one side and the light from the television flickering across his body. His thumbs moved minutely over the controllers in his hands, optics narrowed on the racing game he was playing.

A deeply ingrained sense of self-preservation when it came to Starscream compelled Sam to walk away before he was noticed, but he couldn't take his eyes off the sight. Finally his brain caught up with his silently moving mouth. "You play Nintendo? No, wait: you play -Mario Kart- on the Nintendo? "

Starscream didn't move, having been perfectly aware of Sam's presence since he'd stepped into the refectory. He cocked his head as he steered Yoshi in a wide arc around a corner to strike a puzzle box. "I got bored of killing nuns and flesh babies."

Sam choked on his breath, pressing a hand to his forehead as he watched the former Decepticon continue playing. Cautiously, he came about the sofa to peer at him in profile. "Did you… Did you just crack a joke?"

Silence, though he could see the slightest quirk of a smile at the corner of Starscream's mouth. The race completed, the league table flashed up before the screen faded to black, loading the next. Starscream took a sip of energon before lazily clicking through the pre-race montage.

A curious silence blanketed the room as Sam watched him. It had been strange seeing the Seeker walking around the base, shoulders set back proudly despite the sceptical looks he received from most of the Autobots he peacefully passed. But to see Starscream leant against the sofa playing a brightly coloured computer game, relaxing just as Bumblebee or Hot Rod might, was just plain surreal.

What made it even stranger is that he seemed very good at it, acing the final race using a shortcut that Sam didn't even know was there. "You play this a lot?"

Starscream's optics flickered a deeper shade of crimson, as if he was making a point of being unembarrassed. "I don't recharge much. It's something to do."

Sam shifted a little, taking a sip of coffee as he thought. It had been almost four months since Starscream had helped Optimus after they'd crashed off the flyover, and he'd been keeping a low profile within the base. He'd taken on the dawn patrol, trained alone on the firing range, kept his assigned quarters tidy and was generally keeping to himself as much as possible. The only bots Sam could think of seeing him with were Optimus and Ironhide, and only then when Tempest was around. Shifting a little closer to the sofa, he frowned at how lonely that must have been for anyone.

"You, uh… Want some company?"

A noncommittal grunt. "Spare controller's over there."

Fetching it from the side of the sofa, Sam took a seat next to Starscream's shoulder. "Didn't know so many of you guys played this thing. Gonna have to get some bigger controllers."

Another smirk. "Wheeljack's working on it."

Sam grinned and looked at the controllers in his hands, noting the myriad of scratches across the plastic. He struggled to imagine how difficult it must have been for them not to crush such things. Waiting for Starscream to add him as a player, he noticed a brighter patch of metal on one of the broad shoulders. The Autobot symbol had been ingrained over the scratched surface where his Decepticon allegiance had once been displayed.

"Prime decided I'd earned it," Starscream announced flatly, picking up the mug of energon and taking a shallow drink. "Hopes that it'll help indoctrinate me or something."

Sam's brows lifted a little, trying to decipher the mech's tone. Starscream was typically unreadable, though. "Is that what you want?"

Starscream's optics glanced down before returning to the screen, though his hands remained still around the controls. "I'm not hopeful. I can pick out at least one scar on every one of them that came from me. It doesn't matter if they accept me or not. I'm only here for Tempest."

He'd not been able to make out what was going on with Starscream on that front, and Optimus had only said that he held the sparkling's wellbeing in great import. If the Autobot leader hadn't said himself that Tempest had been sparked from Megatron, Sam would have been convinced by Starscream's attentiveness that he was the other sire. He rubbed his eyes, freshly reminded of the little mech being carried unawares into the Medbay some fifteen hours ago. Ratchet had explained it as a human going from a day to twenty years old in one night, skipping childhood completely. Seeing how Optimus doted on the little guy, he'd decided that that sucked all round. "What do you think of what's happening now?"

A blink, optics dark. "It's necessary."

"Yeah, maybe," Sam replied quietly, abandoning the controls as well to pick up the coffee mug in both hands. He held it in his lap, savouring the heat seeping into his palms. "Sad though, too."

Starscream shifted a little, servos whining. His wings twitched against the sofa as he sipped energon again. "Necessary doesn't always mean good."

They slipped into their own thoughts, the game left for so long that the console switched into standby, leaving the screen black. The room didn't turn completely dark, though, the soft glow of Starscream's optics casting a bloody wash across his face. Faintly, the sound of birds crept into the room. Sam glanced to the ceiling. "Sun's coming up."

Starscream drained the last of the energon as he stood for his patrol, setting the controller on the sofa. He didn't look at Sam as he spoke. "It'll be quiet today. Doubt Ironhide's going to be in the mood for training."

Sam was surprised to find himself feeling a twinge of hope that Starscream might get bored enough to actually race him later. Spending time with the mech felt like prodding a wolf rumoured to be tame, satisfying his curiosity simply by being in close proximity to a fearsome predator. "You saying you'll be on here again later?"

"Might be." Starscream dipped his head, thoughtful. "Depends how Tempest is doing."

"Alright." Sam watched the broad mech make his way towards the door, walking with a surprising quietness that seemed without effort. "Have, uh, a good patrol, Starscream."

The Seeker paused in the doorway, glancing back with a frown over his shoulder before giving a short nod and continuing out. He placed his empty energon mug into the large sink as he passed.


	5. Chapter 5

Provenance

_Chapter Five_

The most gruesome death I saw was also the youngest, long before Bumblebee had joined our ranks. Coppertop was substantially smaller than the yellow mech and looked rusted, which was actually a result of the way he could charge his body to disrupt sensors and evade capture. More than that, he could move as soundlessly as an organic, wide gaps in his armour insulated to cushion movingparts and to convey the disguising charge of his mainframe. This natural predisposition for stealth was the only reason I allowed him into my team whilst he was still in his third frame.

* * *

The task of clearing out the Decepticons from the nursery was a uniquely voluntary one, the horror of the atrocity overwhelming to even the most hardened soldier. Ironhide had nodded his assent before passing the message to me, and my troops had marshalled themselves into resolved readiness from my expression alone. We went, hurried though we already knew that there were no survivors – caretakers or sparklings. At the entrance, though, we hesitated. Peripherally I saw exchanged glances of unease from the others.

At my nod, Coppertop ventures into the complex first, ghosting through the main chambers where the vulnerable mechs and femmes slept. They are empty, as are the corridors, and the marred walls and scorched floors suggests that everyone was herded into the central chamber: the light room, where holographic displays were projected to soothe and amuse the dozing or playing sparklings. The floor is still wet around their parts.

The protoform of a sparkling does not react to damage in the same way as the armoured body of an adolescent or adult bot. It does not yield in crumpled dents, mar in scorches or fracture from clawed strikes. It disintegrates, shockwaves from even a glancing blow thundering through its body causing fragments to sever energon lines as its limbs grind themselves into uselessness. Leaking out, crushing their own components in violent spasms, sparklings die quickly. The knowledge is a small comfort.

The stench of their burnt and dark spark casings fills the chamber. To my left, Ratchet is trembling. His hands have transformed into whatever may have saved their lives if we had come in time, twitching between tools unknowingly. No one had expected this. Our defences had been lax. -My- defences had been lax. I'd underestimated the Decepticon's savagery. This was not a battle, an attack on our resources or a test of our strength. This was a corrosive wound that will never heal, something intended to poison us into hating them and responding recklessly. A generation wiped out so that we may make one critical mistake.

"Focus on the job," I intone firmly, breaking the weighty quiet. "Confirm the area as clear then we can start laying them to rest."

Coppertop skirts the edge of the chamber, his body low and haunted. He is the only one of us who can take their optics from the spectacle lying in heaps. Coming to my feet, his fingers latch onto my legs and he makes his way up to freeze on my hip. Sparklings love to climb. I had quickly accepted the need to give liberties for him, even if it appeared ridiculous to the others.

"There's a Decepticon here, Prime. Wounded, in the kitchens."

Something on Ironhide's body whines, an infrequently used weapon in his arsenal designed for close combat. It isn't designed to kill. I hold up my hand to him, ignoring his questioning gaze to look to Ratchet. The medic's head is bowed as he steps forwards, energon sticking to his feet and peeling away in thick ropes with each tentative step. He kneels, picks up an arm. Smaller though. I narrow my optics and confirm it to be an elbow joint.

"Everyone wait here. Coppertop, take me to it."

In a conscientious bid to accommodate my significantly larger size, the little mech seeks as wide a path through the devastation as he can find. Try as I might, I still hear things being crushed beneath my feet, feel things crumple and mash into unidentifiable plates saturated with fluids. Out on the other side of the light chamber the corridors are clear of parts, only downed bits of the structure itself blocking our way.

The kitchen is dark and overturned, a soft _clink-clink_ of a fluid dripping onto metal coming from the far corner inside a nest of storage units. I raise my gun to the sound, keeping one optic on it as Coppertop moves to flush it out. There is no sound but for my own systems and the dripping. It's frightening watching the little mech work, sometimes.

Standing at the edge of the heaped mass of containers, his wide optics meet mine to receive a nod before his hands come to rest on the top unit. His body tenses, adjusted to tear it back and get out of the way for me, when the dripping stops. Hollow, dreadful silence, and then a screech of metal as his feet are dragged out from under him.

I crossed the room without realising and pull him out with one hand, only to find him coming apart in my fingers. The hidden Decepticon is made of curved shards that circle about itself, a living nest of razor plates and claws that spin and cut into Coppertop as if he were air. The body shredded in its casual, hooked hands, its optics fix on me as it laughs and paws and twitches, lunging forwards onto my arm. It doesn't penetrate my armour, leaving crisscrossed scratches as it hauls its legless body up with wide, maddened optics. I rip its head off, crumple it into a ball and embed it in the wall. Kneeling, I cradle what I can gather of Coppertop in my hands. Ratchet is still on his knees when I return to my men, Ironhide bracing himself on the medic's shoulder to stay upright as his optics darken and close.

* * *

Tempest could fit into the hands of the body that has been built for him, a little shorter than Ironhide and almost as broad. His armour is thicker than mine, the edges tapering to fine edges over and under each other to allow him to move. He'll need time and training to learn how to evade and fire his own weapons effectively in a fight, so being able to withstand some punishment was a priority in his design. Mikaela hadn't understood why he wouldn't simply absorb the knowledge as he shall information from the Internet, and Ratchet had had to explain how that is one of the things that makes us alive. We learn and improve, find an aptitude for certain things and not for others. It's what directs us to our specialties. As Tempest will not have the time he should have to grow, we've tried to provide him the means to attempt as many as possible within his new body. The additional material will also allow him more choice when it comes to choosing an alt form to scan.

He is awake and full of energy, tottering about my feet with Duck trailing across the floor from one hand. He has been taking small tools and parts from Ratchet's It'll be some time before

shelves and balancing them in the gaps of my armour, babbling as he carries out his repairs on my legs whilst I watch the mechs work. Ratchet is making final calibrations to Tempest's new systems whilst Ironhide installs coolant, lubricant and energon.

Ratchet straightens and waits for Ironhide's nod before looking to me. "It's ready, Prime. Bring him up."

As I do, Tempest clicks excitedly and throws his hands up, thinking this to be a new game. I hold him to my optics whilst Ratchet presses a slender tool with a glowing tip to his helm. His body falls slack between my hands, optics fading into recharge. The medic takes him from me and I drop my arms back to my sides. Ironhide steps sideways about the table to my side and brushes his fingers against mine beneath the berth.

"This will look a bit distressing, Prime, but it's perfectly safe," Ratchet assures softly as he lays Tempest beside his new body's head on the berth, tapping a few points of his chassis to trigger the parts to open. The tiny plates slide back to reveal his spark chamber, pulsing strong and steady. I grit my dentals and watch him disconnect and lift it out, the little body left behind shuddering before it turns lifeless.

The spark cradled in Ratchet's hands looks too small for the new body, dwarfed by the large chassis as it is slipped inside. There is a click and a whir as the new systems attach to the chamber's exterior, pulling it wider to force the spark to expand. It does so slowly and brings life to the body, lines flexing and processors warming. Without warning his optics begin to flicker.

"He's found the data packets I left," Ratchet tells me, his optics bright as he continues his constant scans. "System maps, operation manuals, nothing heavy."

"Can he talk?" Ironhide asks from my side, and I realise that at some point my fingers had intertwined with his.

"Yes, but it'll be hesitant. Just give him some time."

The flickering stops and I tense as his optics take on a steady glow, shifting to take us and the room in. His gaze settles on me, finials twitching. "Prime?" My hands clench, unseen, but I give a short nod to the title. Tempest's faceplates tighten a little, then he calls to me in Cybertronian, and the lyrical sound warms my spark. Though his voice is warm and deep, his name for me as his sire sounds exactly as it did before the transfer.

Ratchet touches a hand to a broad shoulder to get his attention. "Do you know where you are?"

Tempest glances to me again but finally answers the medic, wary. "Medbay. For upgrade."

Ratchet rubs the shoulder and his hydraulics sigh out tension. "That's right, mechling. A big upgrade. It's going to take you a while to find your feet." Tempest's optics narrow and without warning he pushes himself up onto his elbows to look down his body, servos whining as he flexes his feet. Ratchet snorts a laugh. "Fair point."

"_Sire_?" The musical sound resonates and Ironhide releases my hand, taking Ratchet's unspoken cue to back away.

"Yes Tempest?"

The red optics narrow in thought, head dipping as something under his helm literally ticks. I slip my hand about his, thumbing his knuckles as I wait. Finally, his utterance comes with certainty. "They're coming."

I blink, my processor already leaping to Megatron. Tempest can sense my presence as the one who carried him, and it isn't a stretch to think that he'd be able to detect the instigator of his spark. Before I can ask, there's a chirp in my finals. Ratchet and Ironhide look to me as Prowl's voice cuts into our comm.

"Decepticons converging from the South. Megatron's come in force, and he's got Starscream." The sound of transforming, warehouse shutters slamming back and engines growling into life. "He was late coming back from patrol, and when I found his tracker, I found them."

Tempest moves to sit up and I instinctively press him back down. "Is he alive?"

Prowl moves past something to look, and the faint sound of digitized screaming becomes clear. "So far. Megatron seems to be drawing things out with him. He wants Tempest."

"Of course," I conclude needlessly. "Tempest, you're to remain here. Ratchet, get the wounded back here. Ironhide, you're with me." Tempest nods at my instruction sitting up awkwardly to dangle his legs over the edge of the berth.

"I've ordered the humans to clear the area," Prowl adds as we file out, confirming my estimation of how much 'in force' actually means before there's a series of explosions and the line cuts out.

The base trembles, components falling from the shelves around us. Ironhide growls with recognition, canons extended and warming. "Slaggers brought plasma bombs. They've been saving those toys for a special occasion."

I grimace, feel something cold pierce my already throbbing sparkchamber when I give Ironhide a sidelong glance as we move. "They've going to tear apart the base looking for him."

He grunts with a grim smile, meant to be reassuring. "Between us and that armour, he's safe."

I nod, taking his subtle hint as to where our minds should be now. "Focus on the job."

"Aye, Sir."

* * *

The sun is low on us as we finally get outside, the light from weapons fire and the bombs being directed to and deflected from the base shedding more light than its weak rays. Megatron is walking untouched by the battle suddenly paused by my arrival, mechs poised in standoffs as they watch their leaders to see how things will turn.

Megatron is dragging Starscream by the neck, ignoring the clawed hands grasping and tearing at his wrist. The Seeker's weapons have been torn off, leaving wet components behind that continue to twitch to fire. I walk forwards to meet him, only twenty feet of tarmac separating us.

"I've come for our sparkling, Prime. I'll take it peacefully, and no one else need get involved." A glance to the jet struggling against his grasp before his optics narrow on me in a smile. "I'll even let you have your miserable defector back."

I cannot compress what I am feeling into words, so I raise my gun.

He grins, optics darkening in anticipation as his fusion cannon whines. "A poor decision, if admirable."

All pit breaks loose.


	6. Chapter 6

Provenance

_Chapter Six_

Rather than taking advantage of the close range and firing the fusion canon upon Prime, Megatron tipped the barrel flush to Starscream's head. He'd have shot it clean off were it not for Optimus's hair-trigger response, his systems already taut from the last twelve hours with his sparkling. Megatron's arm jerked so as to crack the barrel across the Seeker's face as the shot struck his shoulder, sending Starscream down but equally out of immediate danger.

It was a sudden, mutual decision between the leaders to subspace the projectiles and just run at each other.

From long experience, Ironhide didn't even contemplate piling in on the scrap. When it came to hand-to-hand combat, Megatron and Optimus were in a league of their own, and were likely to crush anyone who tried to intervene without noticing. His optics were set on Brawl, his hulking alt form lurking at the back of the Decepticon forces as he fired plasma bombs into the base.

The base itself burned slowly but fiercely, metal peeling away at the roaring flames to expose hangers, corridors and storage areas. The Medbay was so far untouched, Ratchet hurtling out with sirens blaring to keep it that way. At the call, Bumblebee tore back across the tarmac and knelt by the door to provide cover fire whilst the medic kept the flames at bay.

Teaming up with Hot Rod to tackle Blackout, the twins were testing a new tactic of stacking atop and spring-boarding from each other to reach the neck of the taller Decepticon. It was an energetic tactic that seemed to be working on the constantly shifting mech, keeping him turning for Hot Rod to fire into the weak point between his rotors. Jazz began circling the big mech's feet and firing up into his chassis to further unbalance him.

Dragging himself out from under a part of the base that Brawl had smashed onto him, Prowl took in the scene with narrowed optics. Megatron and Optimus were being particularly brutal, favouring bare-handed savagery over weaponry; Ironhide was wrenching at Brawl's cannon and firing into the tank's treads whilst trying not to be spun off the turret; and Starscream was only just finding his feet again, rubbing energon from his optics and clawing at anything that came close. Decision made, Prowl swept about him to grab the Seeker by the robot equivalent of a scruff and relocate him firmly against the wall of the base near Bumblebee.

"What are you doing?" It screeched out of his vocal processor, laced with pain and helpless fury.

"Your weapons are gone," Prowl snapped back, his mind reassessing the battle site. "Defend the base with Bumblebee and get the fire under control. You're no good to us out in the fight."

It was a stinging truth but Starscream gave a jerky nod and got to his feet again, wings flaring across the exposed corridor as a shield between Ratchet at the doors and everything else. Brawl's cannon sounded again, a crackling shell slamming off-target but sending a piercing spray of debris into them.

* * *

"Mikaela!" Sam had shouted it so many times now as he ran down the Base's echoing corridors that his voice was becoming hoarse. She hadn't been in her cot and a return dash to the rec room hadn't showed up anything. With everyone outside fighting and the human military presence withdrawn under orders, the teen was getting panicky about where she was.

Realisation struck as he saw the door to the Medbay, a red light in the panel above flickering to indicate that the locking seal had failed. The doors parted for him when he thumped them, the sensors designed to pick out much larger fare. Mikaela met him at the doorway, hurling her body into his with such force that he spun on his feet as their arms wrapped around each other.

A hard squeeze and then she pulled back a little. "Sam, what's going on?"

"Not sure. Megatron's bringing about the end of the world, maybe." A rolling thunder of explosions punctuated the statement. "Everyone's outside and Prowl sent all the humans away. Where's Tempest?"

She turned, eyes scanning the room though Sam recognised the small figure lying limp beneath a berth before she could speak. With a strangled sound, he tore across to the sparkling's side to land on his knees, hands hovering about the dead body. "Oh, no. God, Mikaela, his spark's out. It's gone."

"It is a husk, Samuel Witwicky." The soft, velvet voice came from the far end of the room, its owner obscured by half-laden shelves. Tempest took a tentative step out into the open, one hand remaining on the wall to steady himself as he took in the humans with bloody optics.

Mikaela had guessed that the spark transfer had taken place upon finding the small frame that had slid from the berth into a heap on the ground, but she hadn't seen the big mech in the room until now. "Tempest?"

His head dipped, optics drifting to the wall his hand rested against. "It's safer this way."

Sam remembered himself enough to stop gaping, finding it hard to connect this powerful looking bot with the Mikaela-sized being who carried around a stuffed toy bear and was always cradled in someone's arms. "Are you – dude, you're big." A thin smile, as if Tempest didn't know whether or not to take it as a compliment. Sam scrubbed his hair. "You okay?"

Tempest didn't respond, finials twitching as he listened to something before his optics widened and he jerked away from the wall. Stumbling past a berth on unsteady legs, he flinched as the shelves exploded outwards from the plasma blast. Sam and Mikaela were knocked down, and he followed to land on his knees and elbows over them, body curved as a thick barrier between them and the debris.

The sounds of the fight outside filtered into the room with new strength, and the teens picked out Ratchet's sirens and Starscream's screeches as closest. Tempest shifted his body about them, optics looking back into the space he'd created with his body. "You must hide within the base. Deep." A blink, processors whirring. "My Sire's office. You know the way?" They nodded and he sat up with a grimace, feeling hot metal tumble off his back.

As they ran for the door, he gripped a berth and got to his feet. The weapons in his arms swivelled out, a cannon chorusing as it emerged from his right shoulder though he had no idea how to use any of them. Though instinctual software had summoned them out of his body, he was afraid to do anything with them. Looking to the new hole blasted into the wall, the battle close and unobstructed outside, he slowly made his way to the smouldering fire.

* * *

Things between Megatron and Optimus were somehow escalating, every contact tearing something away but optics so tightly focussed on the enemy that their systems barely noticed. The Autobot recovered a dodged punch aimed to land several inches inside Megatron's head into a kick to the mech's chest, sending him back several body lengths. With some distance between them, Megatron threw out his charged flail, grinning when Optimus returned the gesture by producing a sword.

"Sparkbearing's made you feral," Megatron laughed, delighted when the mech's body lowered into a poised aggressive stance at his words. Swinging the flail out, he expected Optimus to catch it and allow the chain to wrap around his arm, already prepared to jerk his significant weight forwards.

Though the spikes of the flail were embedded in his chest armour Optimus went with it, their bodies crumpling against each other with a yell as he drove his sword into Megatron's abdomen. The flail's chain tightened about his wrist as it was extended, looped around them both and jerked again.

Megatron felled them both, and there was another struggle as both wrestled with their own damages in their bid to gain assertion. Trapped against each other, Megatron won with the impaled sword over the flail embedded into Optimus's side, and brought his mouth to a heated finial in celebration. Their chassis vibrated against each other violently. "Perhaps we should try again, Prime. See if we don't get a better result the old fashioned way."

When he felt the plates pressing into him begin to part, the typically reserved Prime strongly considered retracting his faceplate and spitting energon up into the crimson optics. Instead he twisted the sword, making Megatron howl and giving him a few crucial seconds to wrestle them both onto their sides and away from each other. Knelt on one knee with his sword raised and the flail ripped out, Optimus watched Megatron force himself onto his feet with the weapon left trailing about his feet. He waited for the canon to reappear, but instead Megatron slapped at his communicator.

"Now, Brawl. Fire them now."

Across the tarmac, Ironhide took full advantage of the Decepticon's momentary distraction to slam everything he had into the battered armour. He didn't recognise the sound of the next shells to leave the near-mangled cannon, his spark flipping at the alien noise they made as they were fired. One slammed into Optimus's back, and the sight froze his systems for the milliseconds Brawl needed to aim again and fire upon him.

It didn't hurt like the puncture of a large, splintering shell did. It had barely any width or weight to it, and at first he'd marvelled at how it had managed to penetrate his armour relatively painlessly. Then, without warning, it began to burn, a wave of agony coursing throughout his systems along his energon lines. His vents sputtered and stopped completely, leaving his overheated systems gasping. Power seemed to flood from his body into the ground, dropping him almost completely paralysed and clawing at his vents in an effort to breath.

Optimus fared no better, shuddering forwards as a modified shell slammed into his back to spray its contents throughout his systems. Energon lines stiffening, warnings flashed across his optics of his mainframe suffering massive power fluctuations that finally offlined his cooling vents. Megatron didn't linger once the mech had slammed gasping into the ground, kicking him onto his back and swinging his flail in tight loops.

He didn't get his chance to bring it crashing into the Autobot's face, however, as Bumblebee and Prowl both surged forwards pelting out a continuous stream of firepower. From behind them, Ratchet started forwards with intent to drag Optimus back and assess what damage those new shells had done when Starscream's wide optics staring past his shoulder gave him pause. Turning, his gears skipped as the new mech stepped out, one foot at a time, through the obliterated wall.

Tempest took in the scene with wide optics, a low sound curling out of his vocal processor when he saw Optimus twitching violently on his back. Megatron was being forced to take small steps back from the onslaught of shots being directed at him, and the Decepticon's spark momentarily resonated with his own. Unknowingly, his fingers shunted into claws.

Megatron sensed and saw the new mech simultaneously, optics narrowing before widening with his grin when realisation struck. He swung the flail out in a wide arc that slammed Bumblebee into Prowl and sent them both sprawling to one side. "Come to me, sparkling, and I'll let your other creator live."

Batting away Ratchet's hand, Tempest took a few steps forwards to bring him in line with Starscream, his body curled so that the thickest parts of his armour were tipped to absorb and deflect any direct shot. His voice cracked, matching the darkening crimson of his eyes. "All this for me?"

A chuckle. "I don't want anything else."

Optimus's sudden agonised roar matched the one rising from Ironhide some three hundred yards away, both mech's arching and jerking as the chemical from the modified shells penetrated deeper through their energon lines. Tempest flinched, looked between both his creators before his optics settled on the Seeker. "Scree?"

Starscream dug his claws into the shorter mech's shoulder plates, mouth a grim line. "Do not let go." A second later he had forced his body into its alt form, Tempest's claws grasping chunks of his undercarriage as he hurled them both into the air. Megatron's outraged scream followed them both, shots nipping at the edges of the jet's wings as he gained height.

"Pursue them!"

Blackout and Barricade rolled sideways from their respective combatants and transformed in black whirls, roaring out of the base to follow Starscream and his clinging passenger towards the dry grass plains. As if cued, the rest of the Decepticons began to disengage.

Ratchet didn't wait for Megatron to officially sound his retreat from the base, skidding to Optimus's side and growling a sigh when his sensors pinpointed the problem. Extending a clear tube from his wrist, the medic tapped the hidden catch on the faceplate to make it retract and forced the transparent probe into his mouth. Optimus's body gave a warning spasm and Ratchet used it to tip the big mech onto his side as he purged violently, the energon smoking over an oily sheen. Gripping a scorched and ragged shoulder plate, Ratchet gave a reassuring squeeze as he watched Ironhide being dragged unceremoniously to him by Sunstreaker and Wheeljack.

"Liquid nitrogen. It's mixed with their energon," the medic shouted across to them, looking back to Optimus when the grunted purges paused with a moan. "Get it out, lad, you have to get it all out."

Once Ironhide was placed beside Optimus, Ratchet extended the tube again and forced it between the dark mech's gritted dentals to stab the energon receptacle juncture at the back of his throat. As before, there was a heave before the tainted fluid came boiling out, separating and smoking white on the concrete.

"They gonna be alright?" Sunstreaker asked, poised awkwardly over the two larger mechs.

Ratchet pinched a hand over his optics as he got to his feet, giving his charges more space to clear as much as they could from their systems. Though conscious, their flickering optics demonstrated them to only be dimly aware as they strained. "I'll have to completely cleanse their lines but yes, fine. It'll be crippling in the short term, though."

"This is a new tactic for Megatron," Prowl murmured as he limped to Ratchet's side, followed by an equally banged up yellow mech. The tactician knelt between the downed pair apparently indifferent to the sickly energon pooling there, as if he was hoping to offer support through proximity alone. His sharp gaze turned up to Ratchet. "Where's Tempest?"

"With Starscream." It was a clipped response, optics shifting to the sky where a thin trail of smoke was still fading though the shapes it led to were far from sight. "He couldn't use his weapons, and Starscream's were gone. They bolted. Barricade and Blackout followed them."

"Primus." The quiet utterance came from Wheeljack, but it could have been any of them.

"They'll be fine," Prowl announced firmly before the silence could escalate and become damning. "We've never been able to catch Starscream, and Tempest's got more armour than most of the bots here to protect him. They're safest on the run, for now."

Ratchet considered that with narrowed optics, grudgingly consenting to the logic of it. When he looked back to Optimus to offer some comfort, he found the Prime offlined and oblivious to this new development. Beside him, Ironhide lay just as still and quiet, his hand touching against the taller mech's as if they had been reaching for one another.


	7. Chapter 7

Provenance

_Chapter Seven_

It was raining hard when they reached the coastline, mist from the battering waves of the sea mingling with the hard spray from the sky. They'd followed the grey beach until it turned into rocks, using the storm to lose Blackout and the terrain Barricade. Starscream brought them into a cavern crudely blasted into the cliff face, intakes giving a stuttered groan as he finally touched down.

Tempest slid out of the way so the big mech could transform, watching as he immediately dropped to one elbow and knee, forehead touching the floor. "You're tired."

Optics shuttered and the Seeker hissed a short laugh. "Yeah. Haven't done a two day flight for my life in a while, let alone with a heavy mech hanging off me."

The broad mech shifted a little, small stones grinding to dust beneath his feet. Water ran off them both in thin rivulets and filled the cave with soft _drip_s. "You should recharge."

If it had been anyone else with him, Starscream would have gotten to his feet and leant against the wall to shrug off the suggestion. As it was Tempest, though, he allowed his wings to tuck about a little as he rolled onto his back, hydraulics wheezing and one hand rubbing his optics. "Probably."

Silence fell and dragged out as the _drip_s became intermittent and the wind shifted to howl over the cavern entrance rather than across it. Systems finally cooling as his weight was rested off his abused structure, Starscream watched the young mech lingering by the archway of rolling black sky. Tempest had been a keen and energetic sparkling in his rightful body, interested in everything and enjoying attention. This mech was cautious, unsettled and very wary, which Starscream supposed he had every right to be. His first days after undergoing a phenomenal upgrade had been spent seeing his Sire tortured in battle and then clinging to a wounded Seeker as they'd avoided capture by the Decepticons. Pit, he might not even know what Decepticons were. The Seeker frowned, wondering how much information had been left in this adult body for Tempest to find.

"Scree?"

Starscream shook his head, refocusing. "Yes, Tempest?"

Tempest arched a brow, and his tone was inquiring and fearless. "What're we going to do now?"

"Lay low until I can figure out a plan," Starscream replied with a grimace, deciding to test the waters. "We need energon, preferably weapons to get back. Megatron will have called off the attack on the base once we left."

A murmured sound of agreement as Tempest moved to sit against the wall beside the reclining jet. "He's my creator."

Ah, Starscream mused, he knew more than he'd given credit. "In the least possible way. He's not your Sire. You're Sire is Prime, and that makes you valuable. That's why you've had to go from a sparkling to an adult body overnight."

Tempest nodded, optics narrowed and averted. "I remember."

Starscream shifted a little, his next words already alien on his glossa before they'd reached his vocal processor. Once again, if it had been anyone here but Tempest. "How do you feel? Are you alright?"

Their optics met and Tempest offered a smile. "I'm learning."

"So I'd gathered," Starscream remarked dryly, his attention shifting to the protrusions of armour in the mech's arms and shoulders. "Can you use your weapons?"

Extending them, Tempest frowned at the guns and cannons, concentrating to make them charge and power down again. "Not… reliably. I think I could fire them, but I don't know beyond that. Could you use them?"

Fan finally slowing, Starscream sighed through his vents and shook his head. He hadn't realised how depleted his energy reserves had become. "They're not compatible with my alt form. I'd be grounded if I installed them, and what we need now is speed, not brute force." A glance about the cave, optics dark. "Hopefully Blackout still doesn't know about this place."

Tempest took in the cavern again as well, casting a light from his chassis into the back to see that the tunnel tapered to a fine, scorched point. Clearly it had been blasted into the cliff face. "Where are we?"

"A hiding place. For when I… disappointed Megatron enough to need somewhere to recover afterwards." Starscream found it in his servos to shove himself upright, crossing his legs and keeping his wings away from the jagged wall. The sensitivity of his wings had overcome his exhaustion, though it was still palpable. "There used to be an energon store in the back, but I never got to replenish it after my last stay."

Matching red optics narrowed, considering. "Does anyone else know about it?"

Starscream nodded, appreciating the point but had already factored it into his decision to come here. "The other Seekers, Skywarp and Thundercracker. I brought them here once."

"Will they come looking for us?"

Vents sighed, found a new patch of water to spit out before relaxing again. "I don't know. Maybe. If they did, I couldn't say what their intentions were. They were notably absent from the fight we just took a tactical leave of."

Tempest sat up a little, voice rising. "They may defect? Like you?"

Starscream glanced to his hands, clawed like Tempest's could become if he chose. It seemed Optimus had decided to give the sparkling everything in terms of information where he'd have preferred to tell his charge about the nature of his history with the Autobots himself. Though, Tempest seemed to still be accepting of him, and the continued use of his nickname suggested something like friendship. Or maybe that was just in response to the guardianship bond. "Possibly."

"Why?" Tempest rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture the Seeker recognised from Optimus. It signalled discomfort with not having an answer, or one that couldn't be given. "Why now?"

A growl as Starscream decided that he really didn't want to be the one having this conversation. It was Optimus's duty to explain to his sparkling why he'd been forced into an adult body to protect him from an enemy who wanted nothing more than to take him and mould him by whatever means into a Decepticon rallying point. "You've just been confirmed as being real. The sparkling of the two longstanding leaders of the warring factions is alive and potentially unaligned, with the unknown inherited power of a Prime in his circuits. You may very well be stronger than both your creators, and that scares the slag out of everyone. You're special, in the most dangerous way."

A pause as Tempest turned that over in his processor, before he quietly admitted, "I don't feel special."

Starscream snorted a laugh, puncturing the growing sombre atmosphere. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you are, Tempest. Adjust to it."

The young mech smiled, appreciating the other's tone for what it was. He rose to his feet, arms folded. "You should rest. I'll watch over us."

"You don't need to recharge?"

He cocked his head, brow raised. "I'm very new, and I haven't been dragging a far-from aerodynamic mech with me."

A gutted laugh. "You saying I'm old, mechling?"

Tempest smiled. "You are old, Scree. You've got a lot to teach me."

Starscream's vents droned in a yawn, his optics narrowing. "Indeed I do."

"Recharge," Tempest instructed, his rich voice weighted with something from Optimus's that made Starscream feel inclined to obey. "We can worry about finding energon tomorrow."

The Seeker gestured vaguely with one hand. "Should probably find you an alt form to scan, too. You're not built for being on the run as you are."

"I agree. I'll scan over the World Wide Web and think on it."

Starscream readjusted his arms on his knees, head bowing as he set his internal chronometer to rouse him in four hours. "I'm gonna offline now. I'll be awake in a few hours. Power down a little and stay away from the entrance."

Tempest took an obedient step back, watching the rain slide past in diagonal sheets. He glanced to Starscream, noting with a smile that he was nearly in recharge. "Sleep well, Scree."

The reply was quiet and breathed, the last thing his processors put out before his systems cycled down to rest. "Thanks, Tempest."


	8. Chapter 8

Warning for mechlash.

* * *

Provenance

_Chapter Eight_

It was only after they had been moved to berths in the Medbay that Ironhide and Optimus had regained consciousness, and the latter had attempted to get to his feet despite his battered and unstable energon system when he discovered Tempest's absence. It was only the fact that he couldn't move off the berth and Prowl's assurance that he and Bumblebee would go looking for the missing mechs that had calmed him from his struggles. Though, he knew as well as anyone that they were unlikely to find anything. A Seeker could cover far more distance far quicker than any of the Autobots, and Starscream knew how to bolt. It was a waiting game whilst they began repairing the base and listening for any sign of Decepticon movement near them, or exaltation in the unlikely event that they'd found Tempest.

"Uh, Ratchet?" Mikaela ventured out of the main Medbay into the work station area at the back. It had been fifteen hours since the attack on the base, and over forty since the medic had recharged properly. As it was he could be found slumped against his desk, dozing with flickering optics. Mikaela rapped her knuckles on the metal door, giving a little wave when he looked up at her. "Ironhide's shouting for someone to send him to the 'slagging Pit.' Are you sure he and Optimus are okay?"

Ratchet rubbed his optics with a groan, sitting back without urgency. "They will be once Wheeljack's scrubbers come out."

Mikaela's brow remained knotted as she treaded closer to the desk. "Scrubbers?"

The medic lent to one side and pulled a cube of energon from a drawer, sipping from it as he got to his feet. "Their energon lines were tainted with liquid nitrogen. I've completely changed their supplies but I've had to ensure that their lines are clear. I put in a dozen micro-cleaning droids to scrape and clear out any remaining contaminants." Setting the empty cube down, he made for the door.

Mikaela followed him out back towards the Medbay. "So, it feels like…"

Ratchet's optics flickered as he thought of a suitable simile. "Like the inside of your veins and digestive tracts were being scrubbed with very small wire brushes."

A wince, enhanced when she heard Ironhide bellow again. "Ouch. How come you've kept them conscious?"

Ratchet grunted with his patented 'I'll hurt you for your own good' smile. "Ironhide refuses to be taken offline unless his injuries have put him that way. It's a control thing, I suspect."

"And Optimus?"

The smile slipped into a grim one, but he tackled it with irritability. "Waiting for news on Tempest. Aft-heads, the both of them. I'm not going to sympathise when they've refused to take my advice."

Stepping through a large doorway into the Medbay, Mikaela touched Ratchet's leg to pause him. "How do you think Tempest's doing?" she asked, her voice low.

Ratchet glanced across to the two mechs led on berths, kneeling to reply to the human at an equal volume. "Honestly I'm astonished he walked out of the Medbay, let alone picked at Megatron and latched onto Starscream to fly off into the sunrise. He's processing a lot of information, running a big frame and having zero time to adjust to his transfer."

"Will he be okay?"

He shook his head, helpless. "I've not heard of anything like what we've done to him before, let alone the impact further trauma can have on an already traumatic transition. My professional guess is that it'll go one of two ways: he'll regress, and Starscream will be left with a sparkling possessing tough weapons and tougher armour; or his CPU will crack from the pressure and take self-preservation to a whole new level. Either way, I wouldn't want to be Starscream then, but the guardian bond might help."

Mikaela considered probing into this guardian bond that had been mentioned before, ultimately deciding that now wasn't the time. "But we'll get him back, won't we?"

Ratchet bobbed his head, smiling tightly. "We will. I'm certain of it, and I'm sure we would have heard as much from Starscream by now if his radio wasn't one of the parts of him that I gathered up." Standing with a hiss from his legs, he crossed to the berths and checked the scanner readings, making a soft sound of satisfaction. "Good news: the scrubbers can come out."

"'bout slagging time," Ironhide barked from his berth, the thick straps belted across his chest and limbs the only things keeping him flat and still.

Optimus had demonstrated far more restraint in remaining motionless for the scrubbers, the pain of disrupted labour still strong enough in his memory to know how bad it could be. He was also trying to be a model patient so that the surly mech would let him out as soon as possible. "That's a relief to hear, Ratchet." He spotted the human lurking by the doorway. "Hello Mikaela. Are you well?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth," she replied with a smile, closing the distance but leaving enough room for Ratchet to circle both berths. The medic had produce two small boxes and placed them beside an air vent on each mech, a tap to each one eliciting a ringing sound. Summoning devices, she guessed. "Are you guys feeling better?"

"Oh we're just fantastic, aren't we Prime?" Ironhide growled, fidgeting as the scrubbers migrated from his limbs and chassis towards his side vent.

"Thanks to Ratchet's and Wheeljack's creative ministrations, we'll both make a complete recovery, thank you," Optimus replied smoothly, his mask slipping into place instinctively as his systems tensed. He could feel, and easily imagine one of the scrubbers shuffling through an energon junction in his right thigh on its way to his vent.

"And be out of my circuits in a few minutes," Ratchet added, watching as the first of the tiny scrubbers tumbled out of Ironhide's vent. They looked like batteries with a thick band of iron wool spinning and flexing around their circumference, stilling when they received a clicked signal to deactivate. Ironhide sagged with closed optics when the sixth tumbled out into Ratchet's hand, the laggers taking longer to find their way out of Optimus's larger system.

Finally all of Wheeljack's devices had been recovered and slotted into the boxes that had called them in, and Ratchet allowed the two mechs to sit up on the berths. He passed a firm stare over them both, but stopped on Optimus. "Now Prime, you've got a system full of fresh energon so you're going to feel a lot better than I say you are. Don't do anything stupid and make me regret not strapping you down like 'Hide here. We've all already agreed that we're waiting for news before we act."

Optimus gave a short nod, optics bright and sincere. Mikaela stifled a laugh when she saw the lights roll the second Ratchet's back was turned. Ironhide slid off the berth and stood waiting for Optimus to do the same, giving the medic a short nod before heading for the exit with the tall mech. Ratchet picked up his wrench from the head of a berth thoughtfully, giving it a quick twirl as he watched the pair leave. He grunted, wondering how he hadn't figured it out sooner.

To Mikaela's questioning stare, he gestured with the wrench to the closing doors. "Those two will be the end of my processors."

* * *

My systems itch and tingle from the scrubbing, an alien feeling that I never wish to experience again. We'll have to find a way around these new shells that Megatron has developed. I glance to Ironhide, briefly wondering how much he has already planned by way of precautions as my weapons specialist after spending so long tied to a berth. Though, I imagine his thoughts have circled as singularly as mine have on Tempest since Ratchet told us that Starscream had escaped with him. A wise action from how the battle had been turning, but an excruciating one.

We walk in silence, past the rec room, past my office, past what may as well be our quarters, finally coming to the main hanger and its perpetually open doorway. It's raining, the wind carrying a spray several feet inside.

"I have to find him."

Ironhide makes a low sound, his hand coming to my shoulder. My spark contracts. "You won't find him – not yet anyway. Screamer's good at hiding. He won't bring Pest out until he's sure it's safe."

I turn on him, dislodging his hand but grasping his arms with mine. "I have to look, 'Hide. I will not simply wait and hope that he's alright." Releasing him, I look to the storm outside and the shadowy landscape it obscures. "Primus, he's a sparkling in an adult body, away from his home. Away from me." I start walking.

He gives me a few paces before he begins to follow, crossing the water-slick yard towards the grassy incline that obscures the base from the flat plains that stretch for miles on the other side. The Twins like to race anyone they can coerce into it here, though even they wouldn't charge around in this weather. My feet sink several inches into the sodden earth when I come to a halt on the bluff, looking out in the direction Starscream is said to have flown off with Tempest.

The rain _tings_ off my armour, a mirrored spray of sound appearing at my side as Ironhide's feet sink alongside mine. He speaks as if no time has passed. "We haven't got a choice. We have to wait for him."

A thick stir of pressure in my chest makes me shake my head, dentals gritted. "If the Decepticon's get him-"

"They won't." His hand on my back affirms his snapped words, though his tone is not irritated.

I let him turn me into him, shuttering my optics as my hands slide of their own accord to his waist. It's unclear when these touches became an integral part of our conversations when we're alone, but they feel too natural to resist. My battlemask retracts. "You don't know that."

Strong hands _schlucht_ to my shoulder struts, gripping hard enough to make me meet his gaze. His optics are narrow and shimmer with rainwater. "I may not trust Screamer's loyalties, but I trust his cunning. His ability to slither out of any corner he's backed into. And you told me yourself that he can't, -can't- let any harm come to Pest."

The cool rain sliding into my parts is soothing, easing away the residual irritation from where the scrubbers have scraped every energon line I have. Ironhide's hands are warm by contrast, kneading along the twin support struts positioned like a human collarbone. The tips of his fingers run over transformation cogs, coolant lines, neural bundles, processors and micro-vents, stirring up a building charge, orchestrating an electrical tingle that spreads through my system and relaxes it.

I lean into him with a sigh, but before I can fully savour his ministrations there's a fresh stab into my spark at his learned touches, his unrelenting devotion, and his hand comes to my arm to stop me before I can pull away. Optics still shuttered, I feel him slip an arm around my waist. "What?"

A soft, dismissive click in response to his gruff question isn't enough for him to release me. I meet his optics to murmur my false assurance. "It's nothing, 'Hide."

His faceplates shift together, mouth twisting as he steps away from me. Blue optics brighten as his assessing gaze sweeps over me. "Slag. There's something you're not telling me. Your posture's all wrong, field's tainted. It's been like it for days."

I can't look at him, focussing on an unspecific grey point in the trees past his shoulder. This is precisely what I didn't want. This splinter of desire in my spark for a bond with him is independent of conscious thought, and ignoring it has done nothing to silence it. I don't want to him to feel obliged to do something irreversible just because I want it without rationality. We've been friends for too long to risk jeopardising everything without talking it through. And now isn't the time to have that conversation.

"'Hide…"

"Optimus." Now it's his turn to look away, though his gaze returns to mine with soft edges. Steady. "I want to know so I can help. I love you. I love you, alright? Have done for a long while." When I stiffen, optics wide, his hands move to frame my face, thumbs grazing my mouth. "And it's not just friendship, or soldiers in arms, or some Prime loyalty complex, you hear? It's raw and intense and I'm sure of it. Slag, it even hurts."

Or maybe we don't need to have this conversation at all.

"Your spark hurts?"

His vents cycle out a short, rumbled laugh. "Yeah. Pathetic, isn't it?"

The static I heard months ago when I was tearing strips off of him in my office, before I discovered what was at the root of his impassioned outburst to keep me safely at the base, before we lay against each other beside my desk and fell so naturally into a processor-shorting interface that it seemed like we'd been doing it for centuries, returns. A heady buzz in my finials from a building charge, now tinged with anticipation. I put my hands over his at my face and slide them uncertainly to touch his own.

"Ironhide?"

He senses something's changed, optics tightening. "Yes?"

"Lay with me."

A smile and I feel his hands draw me to him as I pull his mouth to mine, meeting with hot sparks across our glossa. I start to slip to my knees as a motion for him to do the same, and then the slippery ground leaves no choice but to lie down. He straddles my waist, an arrangement of bodies we slipped into as our best fit without ever speaking of it. It takes decisions away from me, hands over control to the one I trust most and allows me to just -be-.

"You look good a bit muddy," he utters, his words soaking through my plates to wrap around my spark.

It throbs again, but this time I don't try to suppress it and the heat blossoms, reaching for the mech above me. He feels something from it, optics shuttering with a groan as he lowers his chassis to mine. "That's new."

For some reason I laugh, my bearings suddenly giddy. "It's that 'nothing' you wanted to know about," I reply into his neck as his mouth goes to my finial. My body arches when the hot charge from his mouth makes contact, sending a bolt of pleasure through me. In return I slip my fingers beneath the plates on his thighs, pulling gently at the neural bundles I find.

He growls with a hard shudder, nipping at my jaw before speaking against my mouth. "And? What is it?"

I can feel his chassis beginning to split, an inch of space scorching a line down my own as it answers. "An invitation."

He touches his nose to mine, optics bright and his voice crooning. "To what?"

Raking my hands from his thighs, along his rib struts and to his neck to finally bring his face a little away from mine, I take a moment to find my words. It's not a hesitance to say them that delays me, but rather too much feeling to compact into simple words.

"I love you as well. I don't feel… right without you with me."

Something between relief and peace passes over his features in a series of gentle shuffles, optics shuttering as his forehead rests against mine. The rain slides down from his helm into mine across the bridge. "It's a spark bond, isn't it? This feeling. Like, elastic wanting to snap."

I thumb the nape of his neck, feeling something vibrate in small, quick pulses. "Yes." My chassis splits further and I twist against him, sliding in the wet earth and finding him eager to swallow my moan with his own hungry mouth. We don't break apart for some time, and when we do I speak against his lips. "Will you bond with me?"

He grunts a laugh so softly it's lyrical, grinning against my mouth. "Like you even had to ask."

I can't hold back a groan when he pulls away from me, giving our chest plates room to part completely and exposing our sparks to the rain. The water evaporates in white twists of steam before it can touch the lights of us, swelling to find each other. Mercifully Ironhide doesn't hesitate, lowering himself back onto me to catch my mouth with his, thick tendrils of power arcing between our sparks.

When I move against him his hands find my wrists, dragging my arms up to pin my hands beside my shoulders. It's a sweet restraint, ardent and possessive. It's enough to buck my throbbing spark over the edge, the overload tearing through me in heavier waves than I've ever felt. I feel pulled inside him, Ironhide pulled inside me, bound together as if our parts were merging inseparably. He shudders against me, roaring, grasping me like a lifeline and forcing my body even deeper into the mud.

It passes like the rain slips through our bodies, in fine stuttering tendrils that gravitate towards the ground. My spark feels warm and full, somehow sated as it's never been before. My vents heave to cool my overheated engine, sputtering with the water and the mud trying to wash back.

After a long time with nothing but the rain and our slowing bodies, Ironhide shifts and props himself up, bracing his hands against my wrists to look down at me. He's smiling. "You alright?"

I nod, listening as our plates lock back together though our sparks aren't truly separated. Can never be, now. "Never better. You?"

He looks down at me and then himself, arching a brow as he returns his optics to mine, bright with mirth. "I think Ratchet's going to beat us until we're offline when he sees the state of us."

We are completely covered. I hadn't noticed it before, but the mud has gotten into every nook in our armours and it's starting to clog. Ironhide extends his hand to me as he rocks back on his knees, peeling me from the thick earth as I sit up. We sit, our intertwined bodies saturated with mud, rain and bits of foliage, coming down from the high of overload and of the new bond. Suddenly he starts laughing, reaching to cup my helm and press our foreheads together when I begin to laugh with him, his amusement rolling through our new connection and nudging against my sensors. The bond is strengthening with each passing second, and I idly wonder how extensive it will be.

Not that it matters how much of its potential it fulfils. It's enough that it's there, strong and incredibly natural, like it ought to have been there the entire time.

"'Hide, even if Ratchet comes at us with a welding arc, it'll have been worth it."


	9. Chapter 9

Provenance

_Chapter Nine_

Optimus had the grace to look contrite when the utility truck tore out of the hanger with sirens blaring angrily, the multitude of lights still flashing as Ratchet transformed on the move in front of them. The medic glowered at them both, taking in the thick earth that sat in clogs between their armour and the bits of bracken that had found awkward places to take up residence. Though it was still raining heavily, the shower wasn't even remotely strong enough to clear it off. Ratchet's engine growled and he shook his head, expression venomous. "I should set fire to you both and burn all that slag off. What glitch possessed you to two go rolling around in the mud -minutes- after I finished scraping you out?"

By way of an answer, Optimus slid his hand about Ironhide's wrist and arched a brow. Ratchet clicked, his scanner making note of their heated chassis and newly synchronised spark pulses. Finally he rolled his optics and pointed to the base. "Well now that you've had your fun, -in-. Shower racks, the both of you, and if you come out anything less than pristine I'll come after your tailpipes with a power hose, and I won't be gentle." With a final glare to them both, the medic turned and stalked back into the hanger, keeping his smile away until his back was turned.

Ironhide uttered a deep chuckle, shifting a bit as the bits of foliage stuck and bent in his transformation cogs. "Shower sounds good, actually. Come on. Prowl and Bee should be back soon."

* * *

Set near the back of the Base, the shower room had been fitted with thirty fixed hoses usually used to jet wash large vehicles, the majority spraying in bundles from the girded ceiling but some projecting from the side walls. A cleaning solution similar to the foaming mix they'd had on Cybertron was stacked in drums by the door over one of the main drains, an oily gel of car shampoo, wax and lubricants. The first batch had smelled vaguely of lavender, which the humans had been 'coerced' into changing. Privately Optimus hadn't minded the scented stuff.

Music drifting from the wet room alerted them to Jazz's presence long before they got inside, but then the small mech could frequently been found showering. It wasn't preening as it was for Sunstreaker, simply relaxing. Though this evening he did seem to be in need of a rinse and scrub, albeit nowhere near as much as Optimus and Ironhide did. Optimus particularly.

The music quietened as the pair walked in, and Jazz grinned up at the mechs as he rubbed a handful of cleaners into his chassis. "Yo, Boss Bot. You been taking a mud bath?"

Rather than answering, Optimus deflected the question as he stepped into the hard overhead spray. The water about his feet immediately turned brown and gritty, dead leaves and clumps of mud beginning a slow slide away from him. "I could say the same about you, Jazz. What have you been doing?"

A quirked brow and entirely wicked smile. "Stuff."

Ironhide grunted from beneath his own spray, scraping twigs out of the joints in his arm. "That the same sort of Stuff that doesn't go in the paperwork for the humans?"

Jazz gave a half shrug, optics bright. "Might be, or it just might be old Jazz visiting in on a femme that he don't want anybody to know about."

"Jazz." The name was weighted with a warning, but still mirthful as Optimus moved to collect a drum of cleanser from the door and set it down between himself and Ironhide, popping off the lid. Scooping out a handful of the thick fluid, he kneaded it into the back of his neck and shuttered his optics as it soothed over his servos.

The Special Ops mech held up his hands. "Alright, alright. I went for a walk past the Decepticon check points to see who was about."

Optimus nodded, his countenance drawing back in response to Jazz's admittance of a black ops mission. Though colourful and exuberant around the base, his personality overshadowed a talent and skill that he didn't talk about outside of briefings. It made the mech a true double-sided coin, the downside being that Jazz's wit sometimes drove him to undertake a dangerous mission when his commander couldn't tell him yes or no.

"Who authorised you to do that?" Ironhide asked on Optimus's behalf, his tone light and curious.

"Took some initiative on that one, what with you two being berth-ridden and Prowl gone." Jazz's features slid into something more serious as he regarded the Prime. "Sorry, Sir, but I couldn't just sit around here with Tempest gone."

Optimus nodded once, sympathising entirely. Truthfully he was glad that Jazz had taken it upon himself to gather information in the fallout of yesterday's attack, as dangerous as it was. "What did you find?"

Jazz stepped into Optimus's neighbouring spray, arms to his sides for the informal briefing. "Quite a few missing faces. Blackout and Barricade are still gone, didn't see Thundercracker and Skywarp, and Megs was drop kicking-Ravage like he was Starscream's head. Soundwave stepped in so I watched that for a while." A smirk. "Should've had some rust sticks."

"So they haven't found Tempest yet," Ironhide surmised, optics downcast as he pulled a mangled branch out of his knee. It dislodged something else that landed in a sopping heap on the floor.

Jazz scanned the furry ball, mouth twisting. "Not cool, man. You killed it."

"It's a rodent," Ironhide grunted.

"It's a squirrel," Optimus concluded with his own scan, meeting Ironhide's optics with a smile. "I think Primus will forgive you."

A beat filled only with the sound of running water.

"Anyway, they haven't found Tempest, and they haven't got a clue where Starscream's taken him either from the looks of it," Jazz continued as he knelt, plucked up the squirrel's body and placed it gently by the door.

Optimus watched him return, seeing how the tension that appeared in the smaller mech's frame whenever the Seeker's name was mentioned had lessened. "Then for the time being at least, he's safe."

"Told you," Ironhide supplied with a touch of smugness. Without thinking, Optimus slapped his aft with his own smirk, realizing a second later that Jazz was still there.

Jazz had to laugh at Prime's expression when their optics met again, pressing a hand to his side as he stopped rubbing the cleanser into his parts to chuckle. "No worries, Boss. You two aint been as discreet as you thought you'd been, not after I had to come back to your office four times before you opened the door, anyway, and old Ironhide was sitting there like the cat who got the cream."

Ironhide mouthed the simile with a frown, running a quick check on it before grinning. With the debris out of his body, he took a handful of cleanser and began the actual cleaning part. A glance across Optimus's back made him smile again. The big mech would need some help in getting all the muck that had been forced between his armour from being led on his back, and certainly Jazz wasn't going to do it.

Optimus was oblivious to Ironhide's stare, thumbing out a bundle of twigs that had snapped around his backstrut. "Who else knows?"

A fluid shrug and Jazz turned the movement into a spin to replace himself directly under a hose's spray, rinsing. "No clue. Prowler, I reckon, but then he tries to know everything. Gossip vine's been dead about you two. Why? Is it not a secret anymore?"

Optimus looked to Ironhide for an opinion only to find a familiar glint in the old mech's features. His own chassis beginning to warm, his vents sighed a little as he looked back to Jazz. "I don't think so, no."

"Cool." It came as a smooth rumble around Jazz's grin, the slighter mech finally deciding that he was clean enough and making his way to the control wheels by the door. Shutting off the water to all but the sprays over the remaining mechs, he paused over the drain when he spotted Ironhide's predatory gaze. "Whoa, hey, this doesn't mean that everyone's gonna be walking in on you two making out in the rec room, does it? 'cause Bot's have gotta kick back somewhere."

A hard exhalation, as close as Optimus would come to a snort. "I highly doubt it." Though honest it wasn't convincing as Ironhide stepped close behind him and began running broad fingers across his back, flicking out debris.

"Uh huh. Keep it clean, Boss," Jazz laughed as he spun on his heel and stepped out, closing the door to the shower room behind him.

There was a chirp in his finial as the contact he'd been waiting for was made. He answered as he made his way to his office, intending to update his map of Decepticon movement. "Hey Prowler, where you at?"

"Medbay. Barricade's called off his search and there was an altercation when we intercepted him."

The Special Ops mech frowned, his shining features tightening about his optics as he keyed in the code for his office door. "Any sign of Blackout?"

"No, he's still looking. Bumblebee and I got as far as Seattle before we found Barricade."

"Sounds like they're searching the coastline. Starscream's probably got a bolthole or ten dotted around," Jazz commented as he stood over his terminal, updating the map within seconds.

"The locations of which are likely known only to himself. We've seen for ourselves how brutal Megatron's punishments can be. He'd have a few places where he could lay low for extended periods. I think we can rest assured that Tempest will be fine for the time being."

The silver mech hummed to himself, rubbing his jaw. "Yeah, definitely man. Not captured by the Cons, and in refuge now. Starscream will wait until the heat dies down before he comes back. If Barricade's already quit, it won't be long."

A pause on the comm. and Jazz could hear Ratchet murmur something followed by a loud clang. All thoughts about going to the Medbay to see how the tactician was evaporated. Finally Prowl asked, "Where's Prime? Bumblebee wants to see him."

"Showers," Jazz replied flatly, smirking to himself. "But I wouldn't… Actually yeah. Prime would probably like an update. Tell the mechling to stop on by to give him the skinny."

Another pause and Jazz could hear Prowl's processor buzzing, before a clipped 'right' came through and the channel closed. In the privacy of his office, Jazz dropped into his chair and laughed.

* * *

Jazz's last remark had left Prowl frowning, but he simply shook his head and looked to the hovering yellow mech from where he was sat on a berth. "Jazz says he's in the showers, and that he'd appreciate an update."

Bumblebee chirped a content affirmative, glancing down to see where Sam was around his feet. "I'm quite well, Sam. Prowl took most of the hits."

"Yeah, I can see that," Sam replied with a grimace as he glanced back to the tactician. Prowl's left leg was very near mangled, still sparking as Ratchet forced the joints to realign. He looked up to Bumblebee again. "You mind if I come with? I haven't seen the big guy since before Tempest was, y'know, made bigger than you."

"You may go as well, Mikaela," Ratchet uttered over the crack and spit of the welding arc he was now applying to Prowl's knee. "You cannot be of assistance to this kind of repair. I recommend you eat and then sleep."

Mikaela nodded from where she stood at Prowl's ankle, rewrapping the electrical tape she'd been using around its hoop. "Sounds good. We'll just say 'hi' and hit the hay."

Prowl blinked and looked to Ratchet. "We have hay in the Base?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "No Prowl, it's just another one of our kooky figures of speech."

"Humans are most illogical in their communications at times," Ratchet muttered under his vents, optics narrowing as he welded the internals of Prowl's knee joint back together.

"Come Sam, Mikaela. We should leave Ratchet to work," Bumblebee uttered softly, deciding to step in before this turned into a very prolonged and very pointless discussion. The humans followed alongside the mech's slow steps, the door closing quietly behind them.

Prowl leaned forward to see how Ratchet was doing, grimacing at the undecipherable mess of wires and stabilizing struts that poked out of the wound. He sat back with his gaze settling on the far wall, deciding that this was a repair he didn't particularly want to watch. "What do you suppose Jazz's tone regarding Optimus in the showers was about?"

Ratchet's optics crinkled in a smile, though his mouth remained set in a thin line as he concentrated. Reflecting on the last few months he could guess that this relationship had been going on for a while, possibly since around Tempest's conception. Very clearly this sparkbond hadn't been a rash decision. "Well if Ironhide's still with him, I think it means that you've just sent those three on a very optic-opening venture." Hearing Prowl cock his head, he glanced up to meet the other's curious optics. "I sent them there to get cleaned up when they got back from rolling around in the mud. They'd just bonded, and it'll be a day or two until it settles down." He shook his head

in feigned irritation. "Humans have this custom called a 'honeymoon' to send new couples away for that."

"Bonded, hmm," Prowl affirmed aloud with his own smile, his spark warming for them both. Though he knew little about their relationship, it had been obvious from how content with each other the mechs were that they were a good fit, and a happy one. Another thought crept in and he sighed a little, seeing it as more a practical assurance than a real positive. "As happy as I am to hear the news, I'm also relieved. If Megatron tried to force another sparkling on Optimus now, it wouldn't take because of the bond with Ironhide."

"That had occurred to me as well," Ratchet admitted softly, cupping Prowl's foot to flex his leg, scrutinizing the movements within his knee. "One less thing to worry about, and the rumour mill gets some new fodder."

"I'm sure Optimus won't mind," Prowl replied lightly, grimacing when his leg was extended and the new welds strained. "Ironhide will doubtless grumble about everyone knowing, but deep down I can tell he's proud of Optimus and their relationship."

"Whether they mind or not is beside the point. I think Sam and Mikaela will be perturbed by how they're going to find out," Ratchet commented archly, moving around to the other side of the damaged leg whilst Prowl's confused gaze followed him. His mouth quirked. "Humans are far more sensitive and confused about sexual relationships than we are, fascinated and grotesquely embarrassed by it in equal measure. After looking over their literature, I'm surprised that they've managed to breed at all."

"I thought that was an issue with genitalia, which doesn't apply to us," Prowl replied, now quite confused. Studying humans wasn't a hobby of his, but Optimus had encouraged them all to learn as much as they could about their customs so that they may better interact.

Ratchet shrugged helplessly. "I thought so too, but I suspect it's more about a discomfort surrounding erotic pleasure."

Prowl shook his head, vents sighing. "Humans are peculiar."

The medic took up a soft-headed mallet to hammer the back of Prowl's leg into shape in order to finish the repair. "That they are."

* * *

"So we're just giving up?"

Bumblebee suppressed a sigh at Sam's indignant tone, rubbing his optics. He needed to recharge for a good few hours but wanted to apologise to Optimus first for not finding anything. The helplessness they all felt was only being compounded by guilt for not doing enough, despite Prowl's assurance that they only thing they could do now was wait.

"We're not giving up, Sam," Mikaela replied on the mech's behalf, seeing his dim optics and weary expression. "There's just no way anyone's going to find Tempest whilst Starscream's determined to hide him."

"If he'd been taken by the Decepticons, it would be a very different matter," Bumblebee added as they turned the corner of the large corridor, the door to the showers in sight. "But we're all certain that he has not. So now we can only wait and be ready to assist if Megatron makes another attempt to apprehend him when they come out of hiding to return to the Base." At the door he motioned for the humans to stop, offering a smile. "Wait out here. The sprays are powerful and would knock you off your feet."

"Alright, Bee. Make sure to say 'hi' for us," Sam replied brightly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the wall.

Keying open the door, Bumblebee stepped inside but stopped whilst still within the door's sensors. "Sorry Sir, I had no idea-"

"It's not a problem, Bumblebee," came Optimus's smooth reply. "What did you and Prowl find?"

"Barricade's given up but Blackout's still searching the coastline. Wherever Starscream's bolthole is, it's well hidden and Tempest is safe."

"Then all we can do is wait. Thank you. Go get some recharge."

"Yes Sir. Goodnight."

Bumblebee stepped back out into the corridor with an odd sort of smile that made Sam intently curious. The mech didn't say anything though, merely gave the humans a small wave before making his way towards his quarters.

"What the heck was that about?" Sam asked aloud as he darted out to see through the doors as they began to close, Mikaela on his heels. He found himself gaping at the sight, hearing Mikaela gasp behind him as a hand went to cover her mouth.

Optimus and Ironhide were, firstly, absolutely covered in cleansing foam and, secondly, lying in a tangled heap on the floor. Prime's optics were shuttered and his head tipped back, feet shifting across the draining floor as Ironhide traced his hands about a glowing point on his chassis. From their expressions and the stuttered sounds that sighed throughout the room, it was pretty obvious that they weren't just washing.

The doors finished closing with a slam that made both humans jump. Sam turned to Mikaela slack-jawed. "Okay, I'm not a hundred percent sure what I just saw, but I think it overclocked my brain."

Mikaela had garnered enough information from Ratchet to know exactly what they'd just seen, and looped an arm through Sam's with a quick kiss to his cheek. "Come on. I'll talk you through it in the kitchen over some coffee."

Sam groaned and ran a hand over his face, letting her lead them away. "I think we might be a bit beyond coffee."

* * *

"I'm not sure I'm getting this, Scree."

Starscream shook his head, one hand reaching out for a transformation cog that had originally been on Tempest's hip but had now shifted higher. He was tired and had a hell of a processor ache pounding behind his optics, but he forced himself to remain focussed. "You will, just be patient. This isn't an easy form you've picked, and transforming isn't just a case of allowing the program to run. You have to learn to move with it or you're going to end up on your aft, which'll probably still be in the wrong place. Here, slot this back first then rotate it."

Once the Seeker had recharged, Tempest had told him about an airshow that was taking place the following day an hour's walk from here. The young mech had gone alone to scan an alt form whilst Starscream finished repairing himself, waiting until nightfall to go to the hangers where the planes were being kept ready. He'd returned keen to try out the new form, but in the confines of the cavern he was having a lot of problems.

Tucking his arms tighter into his undercarriage, Tempest focussed on how Starscream's hands were directing his parts and tried to move the cogs and lines accordingly. An air intake shunted and clicked into place, but left a horrible tension building across his back. "Scree…"

"I know, it's uncomfortable to pause at this point of the sequence," Starscream replied curtly, stepping behind the mech and grasping the air brake on Tempest's left wing, pushing upwards. "Lift and rotate your wings this way, then they'll lock into place as you twist your fueltank up. But duck your head straight away as the cone is going to come up automatically."

Tempest considered that for a second. "I'm going to overbalance."

Starscream smiled a little. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but the landing gear will support your weight." He'd never helped a sparkling learn how to transform before, and he was surprised by the satisfaction it brought with it as more and more parts moved into the correct places. A huge advantage was that Tempest had chosen an alt form he was familiar with, meaning that all he had to give alongside guidance was reassurance and patience. "Just follow it through. I'm here if anything goes wrong."

There was a pause before a clicked affirmative sounded, and Starscream stepped back to give the mech some room. He watched the transformation sequence complete in a series of whines and clicks, smiling as everything slid smoothly into place. The Harrier jump jet bore the Autobot symbol in place of a call sign on its tail, the cavernous engines on either side of its body already spinning warm from Tempest's efforts. The weapons lining the broad wings twisted before spinning experimentally, air breaks hissing and flexing as each moving part was fidgeted.

After a minute the movements stopped and Tempest spoke over an internal comm. "I'll be able to keep up with you like this."

Starscream hummed in agreement, stepping around the jet to check its structure more closely. It had been a good scan and a sound imitation. "Yes, and you'll land quicker because of the thrust vectoring. Though I think we'll concentrate on just flying for now."

"Is it hard?" Tempest asked when Starscream moved along his tail, hands pushing his tail flaps to check the smoothness of their movement.

"Not once you learn how to yield," the Seeker replied lightly, running his fingers along the edges of the cockpit, probing to ensure a firm seal. Air getting inside there could be disastrous at a high altitude. "The largest structures on this planet are made to bend with the wind. If they were rigid they would break. You'll have to learn to do the same. Let your wings flex and don't stiffen up when you hit turbulence." Coming about to the nose of the jet, he rested his hands on his hips. "Honestly, Tempest, you'd have found it easier if you'd scanned a ground vehicle."

The Harrier rocked on its wheels in what Starscream recognised as a shrug. "This way we'll get back to the Base faster, and more safely."

A quirked smile. "Still, I'd figured you for taking after your Sire."

The big engines rumbled a little before quieting again. "I don't intend on 'taking after' either of them."

Starscream cocked his head with a raised brow, taken aback at the comment. "Now there's an interesting development."

An irritated flick of his air breaks and Tempest's suspension tightened. "I'm my own mech, Starscream, no matter what Megatron and the others may think."

"That you are," Starscream replied softly, running a hand across his throat to cup the back of his neck. It had become increasingly obvious over the last few days together that Tempest was deeply uncomfortable with the nature of his value to Megatron, resentful of being perceived as a symbol. He shook off the thought, taking a few steps back and resting his weight against the wall of the cave. "Come on, let's get you out of that and we'll go through it again. Then we can start on using your weapons."

Tempest found the transformation back into his humanoid form far easier, knowing what to aim for and settling back into the arrangement comfortably with a weary sigh. The energon in his tanks was starting to run low, and Starscream was dangerously close to running on fumes as evidenced by his sagged position against the wall. They needed to find some fuel, but they'd heard Blackout making another pass last night, honing in on them.

At the sound of engines Tempest suppressed his energy levels and slowed his systems, disguising his presence as much as possible as he watched the entrance. Starscream had no need to power down at this point, and it likely would have offlined him anyway. He stood waiting and listening. They realised together that there was no repetitive vibrating _whumpf_ alongside the roar, and Tempest took a few slow steps towards the entrance.

Blood red optics widened as Tempest identified the twin forms closing in on them, looking back to the other mech. "Scree, the Seekers."

"Frag," Starscream spat before shoving himself from the wall. He moved unsteadily to the middle of the cave where he flexed his wings. "Get behind me."

Tempest shook his head as he powered up his systems, moving to stand alongside Starscream facing the entrance. His weapons warmed into life, though he remained wary to actually use them. "My armour is stronger than yours, and you're weakened."

Skywarp and Thundercracker roared towards the cave in single file, transforming rapidly at the last second and falling through the entrance from the momentum they'd built up. They rolled with the impact, getting to their feet immediately and freezing at the click of weapons locking onto them. Starscream lay a hand over Tempest's cannon when he saw the cubes of energon that the Seekers held to their chests.

"Figured you'd be running low," Skywarp offered by way of a greeting, meeting Starscream's optics steadily as he took a step forward and offered the cubes out.

Thundercracker set his own cubes down, his narrowed optics making his face appear even darker within the dim cave as he scrutinised the other mech. Taking a few steps forward, he smiled when Tempest's stance didn't change and extended a hand. "Thundercracker," he greeted as his hand was taken, running a subtle scan through the contact and blinking in surprise at the result. Withdrawing his hand, he nodded to his partner. "Skywarp and I were Starscream's Lieutenants under Megatron."

"And now?" Starscream asked archly as he took a long sip of energon, suppressing a sigh as the energy soaked into his exhausted systems.

Skywarp grinned, placing the rest of the cubes on the ground and placing his hands on his hips. "Your Lieutenants, Sir. Where your loyalties lie is where ours do."

Starscream grunted, finishing the cube and starting on another one. "I'm flattered, really. And here I thought you'd just be pledging your allegiance to Tempest."

"Tempest," Thundercracker repeated softly, testing the word on his glossa and in his processor. The broad Seeker took in the mech again, referencing the quick scan he'd made when their hands had touched. Truly he was a powerful mix of Megatron and Prime, and already in an adult form. To the narrowed stare, he replied, "I was expecting a sparkling protoform."

Tempest retracting his weapons with a slight nod, bending to pick up an energon cube and breaking the seal. "Because of the threat your master presented, my Sire deemed it necessary to give me a more durable body."

"Not our master anymore," Skywarp chirped brightly. "We're following in Starscream's vapour trail and defecting."

"You present a unification of our factions, Tempest," Thundercracker explained softly, tipping his head slightly to the grey mech. "An end to the civil war that has destroyed our homeworld and takes the lives of innocent organics here every time we meet."

Brushing his fist against Tempest's hand when the young mech's vents sighed irritably, Starscream took a step forward with a scrutinising gaze upon the Seekers. "You're sincere in your intentions?"

"We smuggled you energon and threw Blackout off track by a hundred miles," Skywarp replied with a frown. "Beyond that you'll just have to trust us, Sir."

Starscream nodded, his spark warming from a full tank of energon and the return of his men to his side. "I suppose I will. I take it you'll be accompanying us back to the Autobot base in case Megatron makes another attempt at taking him?"

"Of course," Thundercracker replied smoothly. "We-"

"Do you know where Megatron is right now?" Tempest interrupted, optics fixed on the ground. At the quiet affirmatives, he looked back to Starscream, brow furrowed. "I want to see him."

Starscream blinked, optics wide. "You want to go to Megatron?"

"I understand that you, Skywarp and Thundercracker would be as risk if you did, so I'll go alone if you tell me where he is," he went on quickly, his hand tightening about the half-drunk energon cube. The other Seekers shifted uneasily but Starscream remained steady, his cool gaze fixed. Tempest's optics hardened with resolve. "I want to meet my creator."


	10. Chapter 10

Provenance

_Chapter Ten_

"So, they're like…" Sam's hand twisted in the air, mouth pulling down to one side as he thought. "Married, now?"

Mikaela nodded wearily, her chin resting on the lip of the mug she held between her hands. They'd been going over this for half an hour now, sat at the wooden dining room table in the middle of the human's kitchen area. "Yeah, but in a really intense way. Ratchet said a spark bond was like trading bits of your soul, the most intimate bond two Bots can make. So there aren't any quickie divorces."

"Right." Sam sat back, expression fixed as he thought about that titbit of information. Every now and then the Autobots threw up a new detail that reminded him that they were, in fact, aliens. Finally his brows quirked and he met her gaze, smiling. "Huh. I guess they must have been pretty sure about it to go through with… that. How long do you think they've been, y'know, together? Or have they always been and I was just too dense to notice?"

She rubbed her forehead, lips pursing. "I don't know. I don't think it's been since we met them, anyway. Ironhide's pretty hard to read but I think we'd have noticed if they were in love."

"None of us did," a new voice added softly, quietly entering the kitchen and the conversation. Prowl's feet sounded out a subtle limp as he moved past the humans to the energon cube store, his hand ghosting over the standard fare before he reached up for a cube of High Grade instead. It had been a long night and his leg hurt. "Sorry to intrude on you both, but Ratchet insisted I walk around and the refectory was a reasonable distance."

"No problem, Prowl. It's good to see you up and about," Mikaela replied around her mug, her gaze drifting up his latest repairs before settling on his face. "We were just gossiping."

"It's started already," Prowl commented under his vents with a smile.

Sam snorted a laugh. "Yeah, you should have seen what Mikaela and me just walked in on. Optimus and Ironhide were totally-"

Prowl cut him off with a raised hand. "I, really don't need to know the details of their business, Samuel, though that's likely to become more difficult now that they're no longer being secretive about it."

Mikaela blinked, wondering if the usually stoic tactician was going to prove a valuable information source for the gossip vine. "How long had they been keeping it a secret?"

The mech shifted a little, taking a long drag of High Grade and absently rubbing his scorched thigh as the potent fluid soaked into his systems. It looked as if he was going to ignore the question, when he suddenly replied, "About four months, give or take, but they've been close for eons. It was Ironhide's protectiveness of Prime whilst he was carrying Tempest that moved their relationship into a different gear, and once again it's indirectly because of Tempest that they now appear to be bringing it out into the open."

"Yeah, I guess the big guy needs some moral support right about now, and, y'know, boyfriends and girlfriends are good for that," Sam replied with a warm smile to Mikaela, which was sincerely returned.

"Yes, Tempest's sudden absence after such an abrupt and significant upgrade has been causing some circuits around here to overheat." Finishing his cube, Prowl refilled it and returned to leaning against the wall beside the human-size countertops. "We're confident there's no need to be concerned, though. Tempest has a durable body and Starscream's protection."

"Speaking of the formerly-terrifying Screamer who comes up in my nightmares more than Megahead," Sam wound up loudly, tucking his hands behind his head. "Right before the attack on the Base, I caught him playing Mario Kart."

Mikaela's mug sunk a little from her chin. "Seriously?"

"Oh, he's getting quite good at that," Prowl replied with a chuckle, smiling at Sam's scandalized expression that someone else already knew about the Seeker's nocturnal activities. A half shrug. "We sometimes have a match between patrols."

The newfound knowledge that Prowl played Mario Kart with Starscream overtook the fact that Starscream played it at all on the weirdness scale. Sam rubbed his eyes. "I'm finding that so hard to picture, and I've seen half of it." Curiosity got the better of him. "Any idea why he plays Yoshi?"

Prowl rolled his shoulder in a slight shrug. "Manoeuvrability. Agility over brute force suits his competitive style." Looking down into his High Grade, he considered the shimmering liquid for a moment. "Starscream has a very active processor and is easily frustrated by boredom. He does a lot of things that not many of the Bots know about to keep himself entertained."

"Ironhide has his weapons, Starscream has Nintendo," Sam surmised lightly.

"Ratchet said that he was a scientist before the war," Mikaela offered, setting the mug down on the table and resting her jaw on her fists. "He can do a better job than most non-medics with repairs, and he's started to ask Wheeljack about his projects."

Sam groaned and covered his face, elbows resting on the table. "Just what we need around here: another mad scientist."

Prowl harrumphed around a sip of High Grade. "Starscream needs to find a place to fit in and some kind of purpose amongst the Autobots. He cannot remain in solitude, and he knows it. I for one am supportive of his renewed interest in the sciences." His mouth quirked. "Perhaps he'll be able to make some of Wheeljack's inventions less explosive."

"Here's hoping," Mikaela agreed wholeheartedly, raising her mug a little in a gesture of a toast.

A comfortable silence drew itself out as the trio finished their drinks and found themselves staring into the empty containers. Then, Sam unwittingly slammed his mug down with enough force to make the other two look to him. "So, just so I'm clear: Optimus and Ironhide are married and-or bonded, so Tempest's like Ironhide's adopted son and Starscream's his godfather?"

The mech rubbed a finger across his helm, frowning. "It's not quite-"

His finial chirped and he ran the digit to tap it. Optimus's voice sounded into the room tense and loaded. "Starscream has contacted us over a Decepticon channel. He and Tempest are going to one of Megatron's strongholds. Meet in the hanger and prepare to roll out."

When the transmission cut out, Prowl set the empty cube aside and bent his leg, wincing as the new parts rubbed. Finally he rested his weight fully onto it, straightening his body.

Mikaela slid from her chair. "You can't seriously be going, Prowl."

"Yeah, you just got back from getting un-mangled," Sam added with a vague gesture to the mech's blackened knee.

"I don't intend on joining in the inevitable fight," Prowl replied shortly as he made for the door in long strides. "But someone may need the extra voice of reason."

* * *

The Nemesis had been brought down by Soundwave eight months ago and was now to be found half buried in the remotest hundred square miles that America had had to offer. When the ship had appeared on NASA's screens the immediate response had been to attempt to destroy it, but the Autobots had warned that human munitions could barely damage a mech let alone a Cybertronian warship, so it had been allowed to land.

There was nothing by way of cover for the last twenty miles around the ship, so the Decepticons patrolled outside this border. It was along the shallow gorge of a dried river that Megatron elected to meet the incoming Seekers along this invisible line.

Skywarp was to Starscream's right in the diamond formation, and spoke through a private comm. channel. "How do you think this is going to play?"

"I honestly couldn't say." Starscream's weapons twitched as the gathered Decepticons came into visual range. "I can't get a read on what's going through his head, and no matter how smart and powerful he is, he's still only four months old."

The usually erratic Seeker considered that for a moment. "What do you want us to do, Sir?"

"Follow my lead. I've already contacted Prime through Thundercracker's radio for reinforcements in case the slag hits the fans."

"Great," came the drawled reply before Skywarp closed the channel, tipping with the other Seekers towards the ground to land.

Megatron stood a little ahead of Blackout and Barricade, Soundwave watching blankly from his side. Tempest touched down first, closing several feet of the distance between them whilst the others came to land behind him. After sleepless days of pursuit, Blackout couldn't resist slinking around to the front to regard the mech in close profile, faceplates shifting to hiss, "the prodigal son finally arrives."

Blackout was fast but Tempest was faster, using his broad reach to grasp the mechs draped rotors and twisting them violently about his frame, pinning his arms to his chassis. There was a flurry of clicks and whines as every weapon on site came to life, but the cannon warming inches from Blackout's face won. After all his anxieties about using the weapons, it had come easily. Tempest maintained his firm grip on the wrenched metal protrusions, trusting the sensor on the canon to watch his prisoner as his gaze turned to Megatron, expectant.

The Decepticon commander folded his arms as he took in the scene, ultimately laughing. It did nothing to ease the trigger tension. Finally Megatron gave a dismissive wave. "You've nothing to prove, mechling. My offspring could only be powerful, and hungry for even more power." He cocked his head, indifferent to Blackout's futile attempts to free himself as much as he was the defective Seekers. "Have you come to join us in your rightful place?"

"I've come to tell you to leave me alone. I have no 'rightful place,' only where I choose to be," Tempest bit back, adjusting his footing marginally to keep Blackout off balance. "And I choose to be with my Sire."

A scoff and Megatron moved to approach him and lay a hand on his shoulder, but a whining charge from the canon paused him. "You are too young to know the ways of this universe, Tempest. To understand that you must be strong and powerful to survive."

Starscream sensed what was going to happen a second before Tempest actually did it, taking a step forward to intervene as the mech fired his canon. Blackout jerked back but remained on his feet, struggling wildly now as the remains of his face sparked. Tempest's gaze didn't shift from Megatron's. "I'm old enough to know where I want to be, and where I don't. So give up."

Megatron snarled at that. "You wouldn't even be here, mechling, if it weren't for me. It was my spark that created you."

Tempest tipped his head back, dentals gritted. "And my Sire who made me."

"I was still the instigator to your conception. He didn't want you." A predatory smirk as he allowed the serrated words a moment to sink in. "Technically, you belong with me as a Decepticon."

Starscream rolled his optics and scuffed his foot in the dust. "Technically this whole thing was my idea."

The muttered comment did not go unnoticed. "Shut up Starscream."

Tempest hadn't noticed, his grip tightening on Blackout and world shrinking to the implication of those words. His reply was soft and tight. "You forced yourself onto my Sire?"

Starscream moved to stand just behind Tempest, ignoring the weapons tracking him. Likely Brawl was watching them from a distance with the new nitrogen shells, though with the rapidly stewing atmosphere here none of them were giving him much thought.

The grin remained though Megatron shook his head. "Nothing so repugnant. I seeded a sparkling and then left him to care for it until it was born. I came for you then," red optics snapped to Starscream's, "but that traitor kept me from you."

Tempest readjusted his grip on Blackout, gripping the wrecked rotors in one hand so that his other could sink into a crevice in his chassis at the pit of his throat. He wrapped his fingers around something important enough to make the damaged mech still, his narrowed gaze fixed on his creator. "And you keep coming after me now."

Megatron risked a step forwards. "Your rightful place is by my side. You're powerful, and could be moreso. Think of what we could achieve together."

Something like frustrated weariness crept into the young mech's voice. "I don't want power. I just want peace."

Whatever queer tenderness they had been approaching evaporated as if flash boiled. "You and your simpering Sire, who's more concerned with keeping the fleshling insects of this planet safe than his own men."

Lines tightening, Tempest stiffened at the remark and his armour flexed, creating a crumple zone between the plates and his parts. "I want peace for us, not for them. What are we even fighting for now?"

Megatron's optics glinted, teasing. "Control."

"Fine. Then I will seize it." Tempest returned his optics to what remained of Blackout's face, only hesitating to meet the bloody stare before firing his cannon in quick succession. Starscream lunged to put himself between him and Barricade, the remaining Seekers moving with weapons ready to his sides. Tempest seemed unperturbed, dropping the smoking body and turning to face Megatron fully. Almost soundlessly, his weapons shifted to settle on Soundway whom was still as he awaited his master's order. "Concede, Megatron, or I'll keep going."

The Decepticon wavered for a moment. "You wouldn't. There's too much of Prime in you."

"There's too much of you in me to not," Tempest spat back, shoulders curling ready for battle and weapons hot. He broke away from Starscream's grip on his shoulder as soon as it appeared, striding towards Megatron headless of the danger. "Who next? Who else wouldn't concede to peace once you're removed? Soundwave? Barricade? Or will you lay down your life to save your men?"

Megatron looked over Blackout's darkened body, still smoking. Though his battle-hardened CPU told him to just shoot the mech down, some deeper instinct stilled his targeting sensors. Clearly Tempest was not going to back down from this stance, refusing to side for power and more than happy to shoot anyone who forced him otherwise. Or a representative of them. This ruthless commitment to his ideals combined with Megatron's circuit-ingrained inability to shoot his own sparkling made him a very dangerous mech to be on the wrong side of. "What if I did agree to peace?"

Tempest tipped his head, critically regarding the slighter mech. "You won't change, not as you are. You need to be broken down and rebuilt. Reconditioned."

A silence filled with the wind hurling itself across the dead riverbed and rumbling engines, before Megatron's optics narrowed to slits. "I don't believe you."

"You have yourself to blame. You made me a fighter, bred me from your lust for power and conditioned to fight for my very survival." Tempest straightened, shoulders squaring. "I should thank you for it. It's what will allow me to survive."

"And now?"

Tempest's dark plates slid into a grim smile, resolved. "I think an example needs to be made. You wanted me to be a symbol of power? Fine. I'll start with you, here, now, for all your men to see."

Starscream moved as his pistons lurched, not heeding the fact that he had no weapons to speak of as he walked into this potential scrap. "Tempest, don't."

"Stay out of this, Starscream," Tempest shouted back, feet shifting wider as his weapons whirred, fingers sliding into scythe-like claws when Megatron finally started forwards with a snarl.

From behind, Optimus's unmistakable voice bellowed through the ravine. "Enough!"


	11. Chapter 11

_The final chapter, the final part of which was written for Phoenix13… Of course, with a warning for mechslash._

_

* * *

_

Provenance

_Chapter Eleven_

My sparkling, who started out as a bare sliver of light that had to cling close to my own spark to survive, who grew into a being that could fit into my hands and wanted to be sung to before recharge, who now stands with his first kill at his feet and his weapons trained on Megatron as his second, sags at my command. I'm running, unashamed of the desperation in my strides and only aware of Ironhide's feet pounding alongside mine from the close crackle in our bond. Ratchet, Prowl and Bumblebee are several strides behind us, giving me space.

Megatron seems to realise that space is a good thing to have at the moment, taking the opportunity of Tempest's averted stare to move backwards and closer to Soundway. Starscream watches him like a hawk, one hand still reaching out to my son. "About slagging time you got here, Prime."

Still meeting my optics, Tempest waits for me to reach him before he ducks his head. The lyrical sound of my name as his Sire in Cybertronian comes like a balm. "You want me to do this. It's the only way he'll leave me alone."

My chassis aches from my parts grinding against each other. "I don't want you to do this. You weren't born to kill, or to stop our war."

His armour flexes just like Ironhide's does when he's frustrated. "Then why am I here?"

"That's for you to figure out," Starscream snaps, glancing back over his shoulder. "Slag it, Tempest, you've only been online four months."

Ironhide shifts with the weight of his cannons, though some slither of control is stilling his trigger. I can feel how he feels as a stale violent heat through our bond. It's taking a lot of restraint for him to be this calm. "You've taken your first spark, Pest. Shown that you're more than capable of doing so."

I look to the other creator of our sparkling. "Is this what you wanted for him, Megatron? Because he'll keep going if you don't leave him in peace."

He hesitates and then his face twists into a smile like the one he gave as he put Tempest's spark into my chassis. "We could make another one, Prime. One each."

I've pulled out my gun without thinking to, but Tempest gets a shot off first. Clearly Ironhide didn't show any restraint when outfitting his new body. Megatron stumbles back a step, shock thick on his features and only increasing when he's charged into. They roll, a fast blur of grey and silver pounding into each other across the sand. As suddenly as it starts, however, it's over, simply because Soundwave and I have stepped in and dragged both mechs back.

Tempest has a sizeable tear across the back of his cannon, Megatron's chassis has been gouged, though he doesn't seem inclined to continue fighting. I suspect that as his creator he cannot actually hurt Tempest except in self defense. I lower my weapon. "Leave, Megatron, and give this up."

Soundwave tips his head to Megatron, releasing his arms. "Optimus Prime's suggestion is efficient. Probability of Tempest joining Decepticons: marginal. Predicted losses for attempting to force realignment: substantial."

I can't see his optics but I feel something warm pass over me from the stoic mech, buzzing sideways to Ironhide. We both shift a little but still as Soundwave speaks again. "New sparkling created between Optimus Prime and Megatron impossible due to spark bond. Suggested course of action: retreat."

Ironhide's vents grunt with his smirk. "There you go, Megahead. From the mouth of your own soldier."

Megatron looks between us with a silent growl twisting his mouth, finally settling on Tempest. "This isn't over. We'll meet again, mechling."

His cannon remains extended. "I'm counting on it."

A stillness falls across us, a stalemate as to who will walk away first. To my surprise it's Barricade who turns away, stalking back in the direction of the Nemesis with his weapons cycling back into place. Megatron sneers again before finally moving, Soundwave falling into an accompanying pace immediately afterwards.

Thundercracker and Skywarp remain, retracting their own weapons after a nod from Starscream and turning their gaze to me. Evidently they've followed Starscream to join the Autobots, though whether it's out of allegiance to their aerial commander or my son I cannot tell. I hope for the former. My priority is Tempest, though. "Are you alright?"

He cannot look at me, frozen in place. "I'm sorry, _Sire_."

I close the space between us and rest a hand on his shoulder, drawing his gaze up. "No you're not."

A thin smile, the red glow of his optics dimming. "No, I'm not. But I should be."

"You were defending yourself. Discouraging Megatron from coming for you again."

"Discouraging," Ironhide mutters from the side, scuffing his foot. I send an admonishing pulse through the bond as Ratchet shoves past him, moving to examine the welds Starscream has placed where his weapons and radio had been torn off.

A glance about confirms that Megatron is still moving back to his ship, and a moving shadow to the North looks distinctly like Brawl in his alt mode heading back as well. This isn't the environment to sort all this out, even with a shaky sort of ceasefire in place.

I squeeze Tempest's shoulder, offering a smile to tell him that it's alright. That I understand what he's done. "We'll return to the Base and talk it through. Don't fear my feelings for your actions today. I'm only glad that you're safe and coming home with us."

Tempest nods though his systems are still slurred, the gash across his cannon sparking slowly. He's losing energon, but not enough to mind. His foot shifts to gently nudge at Blackout's motionless chassis. "What do we do with him?"

As I anticipate, Ironhide moves past us and flexes his hands over the body, optics narrowing in a scrutinizing sweep above a broad grin. "Remove his Gatling cannon and missile launchers for a start. Can never have enough of those."

Tempest rolls his optics as I do mine, a chittered laugh seeping quietly from his speakers. It lets me recognise him again as my sparkling. Prowl comes to our sides and lays a hand on our shoulders, brow arched. "Come on, let's leave the weaponry whore to his scavenging. I for one could use a few cubes of High Grade… And I think Tempest could as well."

"Old enough to take down a Con, old enough for a cube of High Grade," Ironhide grunts from Blackout's shoulder, his hands prying apart metal plates.

"I'd agree," Starscream adds, sliding his hands onto his hips and giving me a very smug look.

My sparkling grins and rubs the back of his neck. I can't help but smile, knocking Tempest's arm. "One Cube. I don't care what you've been doing – you're still a youngling."

* * *

In the Medbay, Ironhide had surprised Starscream by offering to help the Seeker reattach his weapons and was now sat beside him on a berth, working on an arm laid across his lap. Ratchet was the best when it came to the business of repairs, but for installing and calibrating weapon systems, Ironhide was the mech to go to. Starscream watched him work, noting the little tricks that came through experience and confidence with the complicated circuitry and finding himself with a new admiration.

Prowl was laid back on the neighbouring berth, killing time reading a report whilst he waited for Ratchet to finish with Tempest. Optimus was stood against his sparkling's berth, a hand cupping the back of his head as it rested against his spark chamber. In a display of his age, Tempest had turned out to be a bit scared of medical procedures. His Sire's presence was the only thing keeping him still under Ratchet's welding arc on his back.

Conversation had been quiet and infrequent despite Optimus's best efforts to take Tempest's mind off of the repair. "You could have your own quarters now if you like. I think you're a bit too large for your old berth in mine."

Tempest shook his head against the red chassis, optics dim. "I don't want to recharge on my own."

Optimus hummed, shifting his fingers against his son's helm. "Then stay with me for a while. It's what would have happened if we hadn't had to…"

"Yeah, I know," Tempest murmured, shuttering his optics. After a moment he shifted back to look up at the tall mech, freezing at Ratchet's stern click to keep still. "But you and Ironhide are just bonded and I think you need the space more than I need to be there. I'm not reliant on you enough to justify it."

Once again, Optimus marvelled at the intelligence of his sparkling that far outreached his age. "If you're certain. What is it you'd want to do instead?"

Tempest's gaze flickered past his shoulder to look over Prowl's relaxed form. "I was wondering about staying with Starscream. If he doesn't mind. I think all the Seekers are going to end up with rooms in shared quarters anyway."

"And you'd like to be close to kindred sparks, I understand. I'm sure he'd be more than happy with that arrangement if you asked." In fact Optimus was entirely certain that Starscream would allow it. He was very fond and protective of the mech, and the opportunity to keep watch over him like that wasn't one he'd see pass. That and the pair had more than a few things in common.

Something cracked beneath Ratchet's welder and Tempest jerked, stiffening when the medic braced a hand on his shoulder to rub the solder smooth with his thumb. Optimus touched a thumb to the mech's jaw to get his attention. "Your alt form suits you."

Despite his obvious discomfort, Tempest smiled. "I wasn't too sure until I got into the air. And then it was just... I can see why Starscream volunteers for the long range patrols."

"You'll not be doing any of those for a good long time," Optimus told him flatly in a tone that broached no objection. "You're not a soldier yet."

Tempest frowned, tipping his head. "_Sire_, I'm in an adult body and -"

"And yet are still preciously young," Optimus cut in with a smile. He straightened. "As your Sire and Prime, therefore, I'm ordering you to spend as much recreational time as Bumblebee and the other Bots can spare enjoying yourself. I took away your innocence to keep you safe, put you in a body designed to fight. I will not take away your childhood."

The smaller mech's optics arced with a smile. "Thanks, _Sire_."

Ratchet unshuttered the welding cover from his optics and tapped Tempest's newly repaired back. "All sorted, mechling, now shoo. I've got Prowl's leg to retune, Ironhide's work on Starscream to cavil and two new Seekers who need a service."

As Tempest slid off the berth and fell into step beside his Sire, Optimus uttered in a voice quiet enough to elude Ratchet's hearing, "And they'd probably appreciate knowing about that in advance. If Starscream's anything to judge by they've likely got a few things in their chassis that they wont want Ratchet knowing about."

It was out of sheer habit that Optimus could navigate the length of the base reading reports and stacking the new ones handed to him on the move under his arm. At this hour there wasn't much traffic in the corridors, with the general daily duties done for the day, the sentries in place and the rec room crowded with anyone who wasn't getting an early recharge.

Starscream's first Seeker report from scouting for rogue Decepticons was incredibly thorough and written in an elegant diagonal slant. By contrast, the Twins had submitted their supply report half-illustrated with a few scribbled blocks that may have been casual attempts at words. At least the numbers were legible. Submitting equipment and supply tallies was the only thing aside from fighting that he had them do. Impatience aside, they could count, and the tedious job did need to be done weekly.

Blurr's report was… going to take some time to decipher. Turning it sideways with narrowed optics, Optimus reached to thumb in the door code for his quarters but found it opening before he made contact. Stepping inside with Blurr's report now upside down and making some sense for it, the mech only looked up when he realised that the lights were off. Indeed, when the door closed he was left in perfect darkness aside from the blue glow of his optics.

"All the pigeons back and nested?"

Ironhide's voice suggested casualness but the fact that his systems were operating in stealth mode implied something else.

Optimus smiled and rolled his optics as the reports were suddenly slid away from him and made as invisible as the dark mech. He could have turned on his night vision, but that would have spoiled the game. "Tempest and Starscream have joined in the racing game tournament in the rec room. Captain Lennox has managed to source a projector for the occasion. Skywarp and Thundercracker have been caught for their service."

A deep chuckle. "They did well. Not many Bots could evade Ratchet for a whole week." There was a close whisper of movement near where Optimus remained by the door. "Turn off yer optics."

Optimus did as he was bid. "Interesting mood you're in this evening."

"Prowl and I had a few cubes."

The Commander tutted and shook his head. "And here I thought you'd spent the evening slaving over a target drone."

Soft, unseen touches on his shoulders, _schlucht_ing down his arms as gently as a metal stroke could be stilled his processor. Sighing into the caress, Optimus reached up and stepped forward to find his sparkmate's body in the dark. To his surprise, a firm hand landed on his grill and bodily pushed him back against the sealed door.

"Keep 'em closed."

Optimus arched a brow, relaxing his arms at his sides again. "-Very- interesting mood."

* * *

"You know, I've been thinking about this leadership slag."

I can't keep something of an incredulous tone out of my voice despite how his hands are moving. "'Leadership slag'?"

"Yeah." His foot presses between my own, nudging sideways. Spreading my legs slightly brings us closer to an equal optic level. "All this role modelling you do. Setting a good example despite Megatron handing you a metric tonne of reasons for offlining him without a second thought. Being totally composed even when your sparkling's missing. Being in control all the time even though most of the Bots under your command are insane or heading that way. And I thought-" A thick arm braced across my collarstruts pushes me back hard enough that the door squeaks, "How much fun would it be, if you –weren't-?"

Deft fingers slide up my antenna, an underhanded move of his that he usually saves until last. I flex against the wall, my vents tripping over themselves as he rolls his fingers about the sensitive protrusions. "'Hide…"

"Shut up." The command comes as a growl, so serious that if it were in any other situation I'd have laughed at it. Instead I clamp my mouth shut, entirely at his mercy. It's evidenced at the short groan that slips from me when his hands leave my helm, leaving me painfully isolated in the dark until the touch returns on my wrists.

Spreading his fingers across mine, he presses my hands to the wall. "Keep 'em there."

It an entirely alien position to be in – stimulated and frozen under someone else's order. Anxious in both senses of the word, I tip back my head and await the command of his next whim. His hot mouth is suddenly on my throat, cycling warm and charged air through my neck struts and around the cabling beneath. With his chassis pressing against mine, his hands slide about my sides, skirt with a teasing pressure over my chest and rest about my neck. Picking out my neural lines from the bundles, he rolls them with alternating pressure between his fingers, his engine sending a humming vibration through me.

When he pinches I buck, helpless to do anything but, and slip when my hydraulics falter as he pinches with one hand and slides the other about my finial. My hands twitch, wanting to touch him, feed this pleasure back to him, but I force them to remain flat.

He senses my restraint and chuckles against my jaw, nipping at me as a reward. "Yer doing good, lad." High Grade has always made his loping accent rougher, and it heats my spark even more to hear it now. "Thought you'd be a mischief an' I'd have ta strap ya down."

My chassis begins to unclick at the thought, though I keep the plates together. I've no idea what he's got planned. "It's a possibility," I suggest, rolling my head to one side as his mouth moves to the juncture of my shoulder. It's pitted with scars now and some parts grind when they move.

He familiarises himself with the newest defects, speaking into my plates. "No this is 'xactly how I want ya." Across the bond, his spark whispers to mine with dark, hot promises that taste of diesel. "Standing while I take my time with ya."

His mouth moves away as his pistons hiss, hands sliding down my sides and hips, scooping back on my thighs and touching at the insides of my knees. It's completely different and a little strange, my confusion over this new development mixing in with mounting desire and impatience to leave my CPU whirling. A plate I wasn't consciously aware of at the base of my thighs slides down, and I feel his blunt thumbs slip inside. Pressure, and then the plates of my chassis twitch, tingling. A hard stroke and they shunt apart, electrified and making my hands shake against the door.

"Bot Reflexology," he murmurs at the edge of my hearing, cutting off my wonderings of how he's doing that. "I did some readin'. Turns out there're a few ways I can pull yer wires."

Another wave of searing current flows up from my legs, curling about my grill before circling my spark chamber and making my plates try to open wider. I moan and gasp simultaneously, seeing dark static. "You could have just asked."

"More fun this way."

His fingers slide upwards to follow the main neural lines and I find that I can't disagree with that statement. With Ironhide's pelvis rocking into mine, my spark throbs at the proximity of his and shrouds itself in wave upon wave of sinuous electrical current that pulses outwards into my system. Finally I hear him groan with me, feeling ripples across our bond. My hands twitch again, wanting nothing more than to pull him flush to me.

"Feelin' much in charge right now?" he breathes, sounding vaguely smug.

My vents sigh a laugh, hands clenching from the force of will it's taking me to keep them there. "Not in the slightest." It peels off into a moan as he touches his closed chassis towards my open one, my spark reaching out and slipping tendrils across his plates. "Tease."

"Damn right," he replies from the pit of his voice, a hard edge now appearing. He nips harder at my throat and nuzzles my jaw, his chassis rocking over my spark chamber and making me stutter cries. "I'm decidin' what happens when, 'cause I think ya like it. Like havin' me take the decisions away from ya. Telling what yer gonna do next."

It's become borderline torture, and the micron of my processor that's still coherent wonders how he's still keeping his plates shut. "And what's that?"

Another hard press. My fingers tear deep gouges in the door and I grip the crumpled metal. He answers against my finial. "Yer gonna overload. Again, and again, until I reckon you can't take it no more."

My groan turns into words only with great concentration. "What about you?"

"Yeah, aint that something to wonder about until I'm through makin' ya see Primus?" His hands touch my spark chamber. I see white.

He holds me up through my first overload. Holds me down on the floor for the second, a few feet from the door in the general direction of our berth. I was barely conscious for the third – we could have been anywhere. The fourth I remember him screaming through, hands gripping my wrists hard enough to leave dents as the bond shunted our mutual overload charge between each other. We offlined with our fans running at full capacity, waking again a long time later still tangled about each other on the berth.

He'd hooked his legs about mine in restraint after grasping my wrists, and I shift inside this liberating entrapment as my systems come back online. A muzzy purr against my chassis, vibrating through my over-sensitised spark chamber hard enough to make me hiss.

Ironhide props himself up enough to look at me. "I hurt ya?"

I shake my head, bending my hands to touch my fingers to his arms. "No. That was just quite intense."

He grins, optics bright. "Glad you enjoyed it." Settling back against my chassis, he lets go of my wrists to allow me to bring my arms about him. After a minute he chuckles. "Damn glad Tempest ain't living here right now."

I laugh with him, stroking my hands across his back. We fall into silence again, neither of us tired enough to slip into recharge but sluggish enough in our systems not to be inclined to move.

Ironhide slides his hand down my chest, cupping a point between my grill and my spark chamber. "Do you want another one? A sparkling, I mean."

I frown, wondering where that question came from. "I don't know," I reply softly, though grant it some thought. Despite the circumstances behind his birth and everything else that's come about over the last few months, Tempest has been one of the best things to ever happen to me. I didn't know I could feel such pride and love for something so small, and find myself wondering what it would be like to raise a sparkling that came from a sparkbond.

Still.

"If we did decide to make one, you'd be carrying it. I don't want to imagine what any little hellion from your spark would do to my internals."

He snorts and I can imagine him rolling his optics. "Yeah right. Like you didn't enjoy carrying Tempest for the most part. Bearing life."

"Hn."

My sparkmate pushes himself up again, gazing down at me with a smirk. "A wise leader knows when to take the advice of his subordinates when they know better than him."

I slip a hand into the piping on his side, making him curl with a laugh. "A wise leader doesn't take any advice given just after a processor-blowing overload."

He keeps chuckling after I've stopped teasing my hand across his side, shifting to loom over me with darkening optics. "'Processor-blowing', eh? I'll bet you've got a few circuits left in there for me to fry."

"You're welcome to find them." Tightening my legs about his, I reach up to answer against his mouth. "You always did like a challenge."

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading - I'd love to hear if you enjoyed this, and any other thoughts you may have. Please leave a little review, and don't forget to check out the follow up: 'Family Matters.'_


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